


All Is Hell That Ends Well

by trickster_archangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse world, Dark, Don't copy on another site, F/M, God - Freeform, Heaven, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Nephilim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-12-26 16:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18286313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickster_archangel/pseuds/trickster_archangel
Summary: Because things don't always go as expected, and a sudden twist in fates changes two people's fate forever. Now the legacy of all is one the shoulders' of just one of them, but the burden could have unexpected endings....after all, not all that ends well, is well...Taking back from 13x22, it's just another point of view, about what eventually DID happen, and could happen from then on.Disclaimer: all of Supernatural characters belongs to CW and their respective authors, only the OCs belong to me.IMPORTANT: 15/12/2019 - due to personal reasons (family, job, university) and a fundamental disappointment about the last episodes of season 14, this project is currently on hiatus. I still have the plot defined, the WIPs, the characters, and one day I'll resume it, but that day is not today. Nor tomorrow. I'm sorry :(





	1. Prologue - “Kyrie”

*************************************

_“Slowly, then all at once._

_A single loose thread_

_And it all comes undone.”_

*************************************

 

"Dude, not my intention to be rude ... I mean, I really don’t have _that_ much to do here, lately ... actually, the last few hours have been a pleasant diversion from the exhilarating boredom of ... uhm...last six years? more or less, but I would say that after ... hum ... thirty-six hours of ongoing sleep, you might even get up…..you know...not that the house can offer that much of amenity, but something vaguely resembling a bed, that’s something we definitely own. _His_ own one, at least. I don't think he'll need it anymore. "

 

He could have sworn he had sensed the hint of bitterness and chill within the last uttered sentence. Frosty, chilly, ice cold bitterness, but it was also something else: the voice was lowered, turning into a whisper, uttered among taut lips. Grief? Pain? He couldn't really identify it.

 

On the other hand, he could easily define the pain he was experiencing right there. And definitely it was _not_ something he had already endured: and oh, _he did endure something beyond the worst nightmares!_ , especially in recent years. He was not proud of it, but pain endurance was not part of the special skills he could put into a curriculum... given the choice, he had always avoided pain. " _Maybe that's why_ " it darted inside his mind and guts like a knife " _I had to swallow it all at once. I avoided that damn cup for so long, so that finally they shoved it right down my throat. Spoon included_ ".

 

"Besides, I didn't think one ... hum ... one of your ... ... _kind_ ... needed to sleep, actually."

 

" _Huh ... me neither, to be truthful, thank so much. It had always been more like a pleasant pastime, rather than a real necessity. Then, it just became a nightmare ....But now. Now I wish I could sleep for the next four millennia at least_ ". But he simply couldn't utter a single word. His throat seemed just tightly closed around the agonizing pain searing his whole body, so that no speaking was allowed, just screaming, if he had the strength to.

 

The voice kept talking in the moisty darkness "My mistake. Clearly, you too hold a breaking point. From the way he treated you, I would dare to suppose that he saw something in you, something that brought him back to not-such-fond-memories of his own. I have known him.... Huh ... I _knew_ ... for a long time - I mean, _VERY LONG_ time. I witnessed him falling in that state of mind only four times. Five if we count Tunguska's accident ... even if calling that an _accident_ would be rather inappropriate, given the situation..."

 

"COULD YOU JUST SHUT YOUR FUCKING CAKEHOLE UP?" Forcing himself up and fighting the sickness that threatened to make him collapse back into void, he propped himself up with his right elbow, trying to pry up and turn on his back. "If only I had the strength to get up, like you _gracefully_ came along and suggested me a little time now, I would have make you swallow your tongue. Unfortunately, I have to resort to such trivial methods as a kind request. But I would really appreciate VERY MUCH, if you could keep quiet for the next fucking 10 minutes..." The last words came out almost slurred, half between a hiss and a rattle. He was roughly forcing himself to resist the urge to collapse back again and sleep another thirty-six hours.

 

" _Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea...just a little...._ " was the last thought that flashed blurry like a neon sign during a mad car rush, too hastily to be really caught in detail.

 

Last coherent thought before everything went all black and cold, and his very being was swallowed by a heavy and comfortable silence.

 

"Marvelous" the cold voice sighed wearily, drawing an exaggerated sigh "Now I'll also have to take him to bed. Past nine corridors and nine flights of stairs .... Different context, same nuisance. At least it's only one to manage, and not two..."

 

*************************************

 

Ache. Pain. Grief.

The only certainty at that exact moment was that.

Something he had become accustomed to. Or at least, so he believed.

Pain.

It had become his only companion in the last long days, years, centuries, millennia ...

Ache.

The form may differ but not the core of it all: may it be his body or spirit under assault, it was a heartbreaking feeling that never deserted him. The feeling of being constantly torn by claws and fierce fangs.

He no longer even remembered the last time he really felt ... _whole._

By now, the awareness that a fundamental part of himself had been taken away, and that he would never find it again, was deeply engraved in his being, so deeply that he could no longer even believe in the chance of salvation.

 

" _Tell me, did you feel that way too? Did you feel the same pain? See all that you believed in and fought for, fall to pieces? Knowing that it was your fault anyway, your responsibility? For all that you had done, and even more, for what you had not done?_ _Have you ever wished to die? Tell me ... HAVE YOU EVER WANTED TO DIE ?!_ "

 

His silent cry fell on deaf ears, as always.

He should have got accustomed to it by now: and yet, the very idea _he_ had left without even giving him the chance of spitting in his face, raging his contempt and his hatred, and his love and desperate need to have him next to himself again, as if nothing had happened, simply crashed into the depths of his most intimate being, like a lightning that suddenly resolved to fall in the middle of a godforsaken plain, and incinerate the only majestic tree that towered over miles of desolation. The only form of life remained inside the Nothing.

 

No reply.

 

_Obviously._

 

The pain made his temples throb so much that he wanted to tear his brain out of his skull. Indeed - it wasn't just the temples: it seemed that his own body had decided to expel every single molecule, dissolving into a pool of agonizing pain.

 

_Am I dying?_

 

Suddenly, he realized that the very thought didn't bother him at all: he didn't want death, nor did he fear it: it had become indifferent to him, like everything else. There was a time, years ago, when he _wanted_ to die, with all his being. Then, even that last swoon of life was extinguished, like a candle left to burn until the wick was consumed.

 

His wick had burnt out very long ago. He didn’t feel anything anymore. He felt….empty...broken. Missing pieces scattered around, not to be found anywhere.

 

A light turned off with no chance of bringing it back to life. The raw material was simply missing.

 

_How deeply did you debase yourself….you, the One who brought Hope. Drawn to the point of even no longer casting a vague shadow of hope for yourself._

 

Determined at least to fight the sickness and the throbbing pain that shook him in his whole being (" _Huh, a true warrior as always, my praises, I see that you haven’t lost the habit of facing almighty foes, sooooo worthy of you..._ "), he propped up on his elbows, rising slowly, trying to focus on where he was.

 

Not that it was easy to distinguish the silhouette of anything, sunk as he was in all of the soft and warm twilight of what, he was now understanding, was a large bedroom. Or at least, the fact that he was lying in a large four-poster bed in engraved metal, bearing complicated tangles of vines and other shapes he could not distinguish, draped in velvet that reverberated dark blood-colored reflections, taken from the thick blankets of the identical material, made him think it was actually a bedroom.

 

The dim light spreading through the room, was faintly carried by a thin blade that overflowed from under the wire of the heavy wood door...coming from the world outside, from whatever source of light was waiting out there.

Somehow, it reminded him of a snake, sinuous and soft, making its way in the darkness by contracting and dilating its coils, wrapping and releasing the fragile light he carried ... he was mesmerized by that very thin gold-colored leaf, which seemed to mock him, invite him to go down and open that gap that secluded him from the dazzling light it was pledging.... a thin blade of light, why was that image so familiar? what was it remembering him of?

 

Before he could focus again on the thin golden slit, the pain began to shake him violently, forcing him to fall back with his eyes shut closed, concentrating on everything except the storm that was threatening to overwhelm him.

 

_What is happening to me? what’s wrong with me? had he poisoned me? Am I dying?_

 

The thick and warm blankets enticed his tired limbs to let go, to give up, to step aside and simply, to let the story take its course without him ...

" _I'm tired_ ” he thought on the edge of his conscience to nothingness. " _I just want to sleep, to let it all end, I want everything to disappear. I am ancient, too old, to endure all of this again. Once enough and so on, I paid my debt with history and with mankind. I'm tired, I won't get out of here. If I'm dying, well, it's better to die lying in a sumptuous and warm bed, rather than in the mud that has been my home for too long. I deserve to rest._ "

 

" _You deserve what?_ " The voice took him by surprise, teasing and sour. But he felt the trembling, beneath the apparent mockery, a blind and cold violence he knew well, and that made him shiver. Not in the body. In the depths of his being. A chill that clung around him like poisonous tentacles ready to swallow him. He was paralyzed with terror.

 

_Am I going crazy?_

 

_"Would you like that? It would be an escape ... yet another in effect. You're used to it by now, aren't you? better to run than to take a stand. Better to go bonkers than to face failures. Better to die than live with a sense of guilt. Better to fall gloriously handing a blade, over a pointless and unnecessary death, rather than survive years, centuries, eons, trying to rebuild, heal, cure, give new life to the ruins of your failures. Better to be remembered as great martyrs, than as screw-up leaders, right?"_

_Excellent, perfect, an excellent speech, I am almost moved, wait a moment for me to recover from the sickness that your tirade has caused me ... BRAVO ... it seems that you know me perfectly ...just remind me if have we ever dated and I disappointed you?_

_"I know ourselves, brother ...OURSELVES."_

_Brother?_

_"With all that you've given yourself, all that you’ve put yourself into, all the perversions and deviations to which you've abandoned yourself, did a boost of Grace really burn you to the point of erasing all memory?"_ Tired. That voice was tired. So was it. As if it was bearing all the tiredness of a whole Universe, too old and suffering to keep going one more day.

_Memory?_

 

He didn't understand what he should remember. The warmth of darkness kissed him and hugged him, dragging him with herself, whispering not to worry about anything, rocking him gently... but his eyes were hypnotized and mesmerized by the sinuous dance of the snake of light, golden and copper, which was filtering and dripping from under the rim of the room’s door, calling him .... calling him ...

 

And suddenly, whilst a knife pierced his temples and made him fall back, giving into an inhuman cry of pain, a yell thrown in his true voice, which made the building tremble to its foundations, HE REMEMBERED…

 

HE REMEMBERED THE BLADE OF LIGHT.

 

HE REMEMBERED THE VOICE.

 

HE REMEMBERED EVERYTHING.

 

 

 


	2. “Falling slowly”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected encounters take place, and someone has to deal with his inmost fears.

*********************************************

_“Whatever your sins, whatever your loss_

_Your cup is filled_

_There is no way to turn back the clock_

_No one will”_

*********************************************

_I’ll go look for him._

 

Dean-o was the usual chucklehead, they should have give him some honor. Asshole of the year, for example. Not that his own brothers shone with acumen and sensitivity. A few weeks of human life as a janitor on a university campus would have ensured them with some simple notions of human interaction, in which they were simply hopelessly lacking.

 

At least, _he knew_ how to behave. And didn't give a fuck. Once, at least….but now… He should have cared. Well, he did care. But….He didn’t have the strength and power to kill Lucifer. Even an idiot would have seen it. And yet, Dean-o was so used about having his own ready-to-go guardian angel, jumping for him as he pulled the cord ( _just asking how far he should jump)_ , that by now he had presumably assumed that angels, or rather, even _archangels_ , fighting side by side with them, had a _moral duty_ to obey whatever his temper tantrum was ...

 

_Soooooo much sorry I almost died and I couldn't make it to bring Sammy back to life, in fact, even to prevent them from killing him... do you really think I would bear the strength to face and defeat my older brother? and anyway, do you think I really would do it because Princess Rapunzel is upset and has stated that the world is not going as fine as she wants?_

 

From the tense and nervous looks on Castiel and Sam faces, he would have sworn that the same thought was going through their heads….oh come on! didn’t they all have enough problems managing a Nephilim ( _Pop, a Nephilim!?!_ ), without Dean-o just shrilling and losing it just because his definitely son-of-a-bitch big bro was being a dick? And wasn’t that what big bros always do, being dicks?

 

_Where the hell has he gone? If I had that extra bit of grace in the tank and could fly, I could follow the trail of his power and find him... uh sure, you don't even have the strength to keep a dimensional rift open, and you’re expecting yourself to be the savior of the day? Truth is, you're pathetic Gabriel, my friend ... Loki was right, and that's what’s hurting you, right? Not the fact that you’ve become a joke ... but the fact that anyone can see it. Even Loki. He was nothing compared to you. NOTHING. They used to be deities, once...powerful beings, and there was a time when the fate of the command was not yet decided, and your Father was just one of many….until he became One. Just One of all realities, all draft, all world he created. From multiple to unitary. His power taken from his multiple version of himself, to become One...that’s what made him the most powerful of them all, what took him above all of them. What debased them all….And in the end, it was you four, all the different specimens of you four, in all of his little personal playgrounds, who made the difference ... and now? What are you reduced to? What are you ALL reduced to? A poor idiot locked up in his mind, mr. I-Got-Demolecolized-At-Subatomical-Level, the usual dick of the family who is looking for someone to blame for his own failures ... and you? YOU?_

 

His thoughts ran with a shiver to those last few years in the hands of Asmodeus, reduced to his personal Horseshoe crab from which to extract the blue magic of immortality, the seals engraved in the flesh and bones of his vessel, burned with infernal fire in his own grace, trapped inside a body no longer his, which caused him only pain and torment, the absolute emptiness of his mind within which he had shut himself up to escape an intolerable reality, a madness more bearable than the madness in which he was sealed...shame... disgust...horror…

 

He was certainly not the strongest of his brothers: last born, it was like his Father simply had decided he wasn’t fated to fight, just like his assignment inside the grand plan of Heaven was more about planning its defense, than actually carrying it out. That was the reason why he was settled to guard the most sacred of its treasures. One intended to be kept at cost of all the Hosts’ very existence.

 

Still, he should have been able to take on a simple Prince of Hell...if just he had not been encarved, deep in his being, with that ancient magic he had been so proud of.

 

It was almost poetic, the mockering irony of his fall: defeated by brains, not by brawns, taken by treachery, not fight, and imprisoned like his old friend, not to be spilt on by venom, but to be drained of his holiness.

 

_Loki, old friend ... was that what you felt for the endless centuries of imprisonment your father had condemned you to?_

_Mickey, brother ... you're still there somewhere, or are you lost forever, how would I be lost if I hadn’t be released?_

_Sam ... Sammy ... and you?_ _How did you, human and mortal, endured millennia of infernal time in the hands of my brothers?_

 

Human yes ... but if one thing he had learned, it was that no human could be called trivial, actually: in the moment of greatest despair, when the Hosts could simply let themselves go to misery and give up, because there was no logical and plausible possibility of resistance, humans kept fighting, against all odds, despite everything, against everything.

As in this world devastated by his brothers.

Where the Winchesters had never existed ... the Winchesters, simple humans who represented the balance between the annihilation of a world and its salvation ...

 

The only hope of these worlds. An invincible ray of sunshine, pure heaven, in a world clouded only in greys, devoid of any colour or light. Or hope. 2D world where good or evil didn't count anymore. Only survival of the fittest…. _them._

 

_And you let Sam die. You let his light be extinguished. Worse. You left him dead. Almighty Archangel. Proud and terrible, fierce beast, a creature of immeasurable power. You are pathetic, ridiculous, a joke!_

 

That was what Jack was telling him, through his stare. Jack's eyes. They all were seeing the human eyes of the kid’s mother, Kelly ... but he, Gabriel the Archangel of the Lord, Master of the Runes and Connoisseur of the Ancient Languages, could see where not even Lucifer could: he had seen the real eyes of Jack. He had seen the power that still slept, waiting drowsed on the dark pits of his being ... a power able to recall even the dead from any kingdom, and subvert the laws of the Cosmos.

 

_What have you done, brother ... ._.

 

A primordial power on which God himself didn’t hold power, so grand that he had it forbidden as an abomination.

 

_That's how you always solved problems, right? Burying them under a blanket of "Because I say so". It was like that with my brother ... easier to unleash Michael against him... oh no right! It is Michael who went unleashed against him ... you don't bear any responsibility, do you? It must run in the family..._

 

A power that came from the heart of Time, when Being and Not Being were one. When it had not yet been decided that Grace and Soul should be distinct parts of the same reality.

 

The power of the One.

 

_That was what you feared, right? Not the offspring of any of your children ... but an offspring of OURS. They can't see the Abyss inside those eyes ...but I do. Because it was just YOU who had the right to manage the power of that creation, right?_

 

He stopped in the middle of a clearing. Dull, grey, flat. Like everything else in this doomed little world. The angels had killed not only humanity, but also hope: centuries of beliefs, of worshipping, of _faith_ , taken down and smited along with the pure and simple certainty that Heaven’s Host were there to protect them, to guard over them.

 

But they slaughtered them all.

 

They killed hope, future, life. This was a drained universe. A supermassive black hole sucking light and life from the inside. The sun itself didn't shine anymore. The light itself was dying.

This world was dying….and in the end, it would take all Hosts with himself. Down the hill, down the hole.

 

He shivered. That was the same, identical feeling given by Jack's eyes ... those eyes, ancient like the One, had pierced through him: it was not anger, nor hate, nor pain. It was disgust. Contempt. For something inferior and insignificant, so low that it had not the right to exist.

His eyes spat the truth in his face: " _I would have been able to bring him back, in your place. Why did you desert him? Didn't you care about him? Do you care about something?_ "

 

_Yeah ... what do you care about? And you, does someone care for you? What are you worthy for?_

 

FOR NOTHING.

 

The truth hit him in the stomach making him falter with sickness.

 

The truth, which he had not wanted to reveal, was that he, Gabriel Messenger of God, Bearer of the Horn, Keeper of the Tree, could not restore his grace.

 

The truth was that maybe it would have taken centuries, before repairing the damage inflicted by Asmodeus ... even if the Shaman, the serpent, still had the vial of his grace, it would have been barely enough to cure the internal decay of his vessel. His life insurance, that he would have graciously stolen if needed, and it definitely _was_ needed, was far less than what was required to heal himself now.

 

The truth, hidden under jokes and idiotic tricks, was that even if they managed to get back home safe and sound, escaping the Mickey 2.0 death squads, he would die.

His vessel had burnt out the regenerative abilities his little grace allowed him, destroying the seals around the field. And now it was reduced to a lower level than a simple angel.

And the internal damage induced by the curses and spells used by Asmodeus to chain and subdue the power of an Archangel, and which prevented Castiel, a Seraphim, from healing him, was proceeding inexorably.

 

His vessel was dying.

 

_Gabriel, you're dying._

_Face it, Gabriel, you're a joke. You're a failure. You lived for pleasure. You stood for nothing. And in the end, that's exactly what you're dying for. Loki was right._

 

Only one thing he could do. And he would have done it, at least to erase the shame of never having been enough.

 

He had never been enough. Only his extinguishing life, his waning grace, was left to him: and that was his only and last weapon, and oh Father! he was determined to use every last drop of it to achieve his final goal. He had never been enough, he could not save his family, he could not protect his friend, he could not give back the comfort and the healing he had received.

At least, he could serve something greater, one more time.

And maybe, clean his past, once and forever.

 

The time was running out, the end was nigh, he could sense it.

 

He was sensing a supreme, ferocious power hovering over them... Mickey? He was close, too close. Cas hadn't noticed ... Cas had something wrong with himself, his angelic senses were dull, clouded over, his sharpness was benumbed. Cas was a Seraphim, but his powers seemed inferior to those of an ordinary angel, too.

 

_Is this the price to pay for Humanity?_

 

Time was running out. He had to find Jack and go back to the field. Probably Michael's death squads were already looking for them, and they were waiting for the slightest distraction, the slightest lowering of their defenses, or even a foolish little boy who had run away, to track them down and annihilate them.

 

_Where are you Jack? if only I could sense you ... but I sense only this black crow flapping its wings over this dull sky ... among these trees in black and white something is stirring..._

 

His human and angelic senses were on the alert: a primordial terror flowed beneath his skin like cold blood... he had never felt such a power. Yet there was something strange: Michael had a devastating power, pure destruction. But it was a deadly and fierce light. This ... this was a heart of pulsating darkness. Something murky that stirred inside a shell of light. _This_ wasn't Michael ...

 

He began to run in a convulsive way, stumbling and rising, falling and getting up again: he knew that Jack was close, but simply his power was not strong enough to detect him for sure. Were it 300 feet or 300 miles, it would have been the same: he would have never got to Jack in time.

 

Frustration and terror began their fight to take the reins, and panic gripped him: turning convulsively to check behind his back, he didn't see the dead trunk buried by mosses and lichens, and fell forward hitting the ground with his forehead.

 

**_DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE KID. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF ..._ **

 

The voice sounded like a storm, like the howling of the wind that carried the tornado, tearing trees, houses and hills along its path. It resonated among the white trunks of the dying birches, gathered the electricity of the air making it vibrating and creaking, like branches broken by the wind. It resounded like the earth opening to swallow the ocean floor in its depths, resounded like the ocean when it was born.

 

But in reality, it only resonated in his head.

 

Had Gabriel been human, he would have seen his head exploding like a ripe melon: because that was the voice of an angelic entity. More than that - it was the voice of an Archangel...

 

_MICHAEL!_

**_SORRY TRY AGAIN...BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME..._ **

_Who are you?_

**_HAVE YOU REDUCED TO THIS, BROTHER? TO NOT RECOGNIZE ME? YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE US ANYMORE?_ **

_Who are you? REVEAL YOURSELF!_

 

There was no reason to hide: there were no humans nearby, and Jack was nowhere to be found... Gabriel gathered what little grace he still owned and spreaded out his silvery gold wings, roaring his question through his true voice.

 

And this time the birches broke against the strength of that primordial power, as old as the One.

 

Everything was silent. The wind had fallen asleep, and only the trunks driven to shreds, and the clods turned as after the passage of the hurricane, witnessed the power of which the mere voices of two primordial entities were capable.

 

He didn't feel his approaching. Silent as a snake in the dark, he slipped behind him, and Gabriel could sense him only by the warm breath over his own neck.

 

He shivered. Still, like a sparrow in front of a cobra, he did not dare to move even an atom of his vessel. The power he had felt before, the heart of darkness dressed in crow's wings, was right behind his back. If he had dropped back, he would have been in his arms.

 

**_TURN AROUND_ **

 

It was not an order. An Archangel (that was, he was sure ... but who?) has no need to order. An Archangel speaks, and the world remolds to his will.

 

_If we are capable of this, what will you ever do...Jack, son of Lucifer...?_

**_YOU ALL MADE A HOLY MESS WITH THAT RIFT. THE PULSATION HAS DRIVEN ME OUT, AFTER SO MANY YEARS ... I HAD SWORN NOT TO COME BACK ANYMORE: BUT YOU KNOW, AFTER THE THIRD RIFT, YOU START SUSPECTING THAT THEY'RE MAKING AN INTERESTING PARTY AND YOU'LL BE THE USUAL DUMBASS NOBODY CALLS, TAKING ON THE EXCUSE THEY LOST THE NUMBER_ **

 

Gabriel moved his head slightly to peek over his shoulder, his body still and tense, the archangel blade clenched in his fist. And yet ... yet it was not a hostile grace, the one that was touching him, hugging him.

 

Curiosity. Compassion. Sadness. _Envy_.

 

**_TURN AROUND. IF I WANTED TO KILL YOU, I WOULD HAVE ALREADY DONE IT. AND AFTER HAVING SMITEN YOU, ONLY THEN, I’D HAVE SPOKEN. TURN AROUND_ **

 

He turned.

 

And his breath died in his throat, where more or less jumped the heart of his vessel.

 

A well-known figure stood before him...known for a long time. From the dawn of time, indeed. Someone he never expected to see, though. Not here. Not now.

 

The man in front of him was of medium height, thin, but with the nerve and agility of a young wild wolf. Pale, with an unexpectedly warm and rosy skin, in a world made in shades of gray, he was entirely dressed in black: he wore knee-high leather boots, tightened by gunmetal-colored metal studs, shiny and clean in a world that splashed in mud.

Under the heavy hood of black wool, inlaid with silver and gold, he wore thick black fabric trousers, and above them snug, embroidered and equally black layers of tunics, tighten by a dark leather belt, adorned with a stud bearing a coat of arms that was familiar to him, but still not known.

 

Looking twice, he noticed that those who adorned his clothing were not mere embroideries or inlays, random arabesques. They were _runes_ , and very powerful.

Runes that came from a time when humanity had not yet begun to walk on earth. Runes of protection, runes that shielded and diverted the glances of Heaven too.

An acquaintance that he, Gabriel, had tried in vain to obtain, from Loki or Odin, being content with that part of black magic that had been granted to him in his witness protection.

 

The man before him was powerful. And deep. Like an Abyss of Darkness ... nothing like him, Gabriel, Messenger Archangel, Bearer of the Horn, Herald of Heaven, whose majestic silvery white wings streaked in golden twirls once used to embrace stars and planets scattered around inside his solar system, throughout the seven dimensions of reality, making their hearts of boiling magma throb.

 

The Archangel in front of him had not two, but rather six wings, as the Seraphim only possessed, to fly closer to the Throne ( _sure, why not... let us still tell the fairy tales to the fledglings...._ ). Six wings as black as the abyss, vibrant in blue and silver.

 

They remembered the colors born from the explosion of a supernova in which he had fluctuated in the times of creation, when even the Universe, _his Universe_ , was young ... and they remembered him the same power.

 

And yet, though the same could not be said of that abominable power, the face that was staring mockingly at him, was _his own face_ : thin and sardonic features, large golden eyes peering at him, reading into the deepest depths of his being from the inside, his lips squeezed into a grimace of contempt.

 

Had not it been for the dark and regal clothing, for the hair that fell in soft golden waves over his shoulders, longer than his, and for the thick golden beard that framed his face, he would have said he was in front of the Magic Mirror Gate.

 

**_AND IT IS SO, ACTUALLY. YOU'RE WATCHING YOURSELF. WHAT YOU'RE FOR TRUE, OR BETTER, WHAT YOU COULD HAVE BEEN, WHAT YOU HAD TO BE. WE ARE THE SAME. WE ARE EQUAL._ **

 

"No, we are not". Enraged, astonished, Gabriel abandoned the silent dialogue within their respective Graces, to force him to speak "You are nothing of what I am, nor am I of what you are. Yes you are more powerful than me, it is true ... but even if it escapes me now, something in you doesn't work, it's wrong. I would never have exceeded certain boundaries to become like you. Because maybe I am a limited failure, a hot mess, a screw up, but I know very well what borders you had to cross to get that power. And if someone like you has such power, and hasn't stopped Michael, letting him destroy humanity - "

 

"Ah, would you like to give me moral lessons now? of ethics perhaps? but look ... I thought _you_ were the one who had run away from home in tears, hiding among the humans, living like them, playing with his power to be like god, and bestow just desserts, to console himself to at least be able to " _make the difference_ ", to be on the right side. _TO SERVE SOMETHING_... Because that's where we always going parry, right, brother? _Your_ sense of uselessness and frustration ... _You_ didn't stop Lucifer, _you_ didn't force Michael reason, _you_ didn't convince Raphael to help you, _you_ didn't hold your father, or never _you_ found him, for how many folds of the Cosmos you've been searching through... _you_ didn't save Dean and Sam, and when you finally decided to confront Lucifer to protect them, _you_ didn't even have the courage to die properly. _YOU'VE EVER AVOIDED ANY RESPONSIBILITY….AGAIN_... you pretended to sacrifice yourself. You preferred to be a sweet, endearing memory rather than a constant, rotten disappointment….and when you came back, obviously saved by others from the nightmare _you_ get yourself stuck into, like an idiot, because once again you had hidden yourself among pleasures and total lack of responsibility, what have you done? _You took flight, again_. Like your Father ...guess it runs in the Family? You killed Asmodeus, saved Cassie and Sammy, and you felt righteous, didn't you? Is this what you are? Then yes: we’re definitely _NOT_ the same!"

 

"You have no idea of what I am, nor what I really did or what I went through!" Gabriel's scream resounded again among the birches, sweeping the ground with a cosmic wind, and knocking down the few trunks left standing.

 

Like Tunguska many years before ...

 

"Sure?" The eyes of the other Gabriel were reduced to a slit, his features plain and relaxed, his mouth bent in a half-smile bearing no expression. One would have said that he felt no emotion, just bored fun. He tilted his head slightly to a side, staring deeply inside his eyes of gold "Are you sure I don't know? Are you sure that I don't know everything, instead, _Guardian of the Tree_? "

 

At these words Gabriel's fury fell like the wind. Maybe ... maybe he ... _knew_? How was it possible? Even here, he too ... had he had that task?

 

**_YES_**.

 

"But here we have another problem now." His voice was bored, annoyed...he started pacing back and forth, like talking to himself "Michael is on your trail, you're right. He senses the boy's power, he craves it. He needs it. It was not enough to annihilate the hopes of humanity and Hell. He must get _any kind_ of power. He must become the repository of all power. He will follow you, he will find you. The plan your Winchesters will come to, is so pathetically human, and so moving ... but it will lead you all to death if we don't do something"

 

"WE? So sorry if I'm not super excited to hear the story of your life and your plans for the future, but now I have to find Jack and bring him back, so many thanks for the moment of self-therapy, but yes, Mickey is looking for us, I sense him, and we must prepare- "

 

"But are you even listening to me? You have no hope, not even with the help of Lucifer, your Lucifer. And you don't have to, I repeat, you MUST NOT get the Nephilim closer to Michael" his voice had slipped to a subdued growl “Jack is safe and sound now. He's at the camp. They are looking for you. I created an illusion in your Cassie's mind, I made him believe you informed him you are scouting the area and find potential squads on the way. They are planning to take everyone away from the field to your world".

 

"Then I repeat, I must go, and I would ask you from now on to stay away from us all. Either you're here to help us, or say hello to the family, well the one that's left ... and get fucking away! "

 

And shoving him out of his path, hitting him with his shoulder, he tried to move away. Gabriel, the other himself, grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to turn around and stare straight in the eyes. His eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was low and sad.

 

"I told you, we're the same. I know what you want to do. It's the same thing I’ve wanted to do for a long time now, but I had to find a reason. Something that I no longer have, that I had once and then lost. Taking away even the pleasure of making a difference. Do you wonder why I didn't face Michael with this ancient power that you sense so well? Why didn't I stop him from doing what he's doing? Well, first, I acquired this power over the last few years - yes, while you had fun making the dairy cow for Asmodeus” Gabriel's eyes flashed with hatred and frustration, Gabriel's eyes with sarcasm and ... pity? "... so I could not prevent anything. Second, do you believe that an Archangel capable of destroying the Antichrist of our world to cut off Lucifer's hopes, could ever be within my reach? Finally, I didn't care. I wasn't interested in anything anymore "

 

"And now, almighty Archangel? What has changed? Do you care, now? For what, exactly?"

 

"Now I have seen you. I mean, in the flesh. And I have seen them. You care about them, don't you? Do you care about Sam and Dean and Castiel and Jack? Do you care? Especially the young Winchester, right? do you see yourself in him, again? would you like to make sure that his fate went differently from yours, that he can forgive himself like you can't? would you like to see him overcome his sense of guilt and helplessness, would you like to see him take on the role of leader, of master, which belongs to him by birth? would you like him to be the leader you would like to be, that you wanted to be, but that you fear you can't be? for this all...would you like to sacrifice yourself, so that he lives and can take back his own life in his own hands, drawing strength from the desperation of your death? Would you like him to accept his destiny, fulfill his role, be what he was born to be but in a better way, and lead his own screwed up family? Go back to the past to find his own future, like you decided you simply don't deserve to do?"

 

"What are you..."

 

"Don't pretend with me. Arcangel, remember?” And he raised his eyebrows, seductively winking, then burst into a dull and false laugh “Even if we weren't the same, I could still read you inside. YOU WANT TO DIE ... No, shut up” he raised his free hand, to prevent him from speaking “you want to die, and so I want. Life, this life, all life, no longer makes sense, for too long. It's not just boredom. It is seeing the failure of my Father, of _our_ Father ... do you wonder why he fled? Because there are only three things in this universe that can kill him. And himself is not one of these. Even God can die, but not at his own hands.” he concluded as if he were talking about how much sugar to put in his cappuccino.

 

"Who tells you he wants to die?" Gabriel tried to reply, in an offended voice. But his resistance was weak. The tension of the struggle had waned, he had abandoned himself to Gabriel's firm grip ... he didn't try to sound convincing. It didn't make sense. It was too difficult, even for him, Gabriel Loki Silvertongue. He didn't like it: being in front of himself. Facing almost no one, he had ever been in such difficulty, maybe only with Sam he had to give up. But before himself... what chance did he bear? All his deceptions fell before the Magic Mirror Gate ...

 

"You WANT to die" he repeated, almost to himself "You want to die ... but instead I tell you: go and keep living. For them. Oh sure, that’s even harder than dying, of course, so you prefer the easy way, right? But since life doesn't matter to me anymore, since I have nothing left, and my legacy is kept in solid hands, my task ends here. Yours, don’t. You still have your Marla, you still hold your compass….” he hummed through tightened lips, glazing eyes staring into nothingness.

 

"Marla?"

 

Gabriel roused himself "It doesn't matter, now it doesn't matter" he spoke quickly, as if time was slipping through his fingers. He had grabbed him by the other forearm, pulling him close to himself and staring into his own pale grace "You are dying. No shut up, stop being a fool. I know and feel it - not like your Castiel. You are dying, you will never be able to make the difference again, and the sense of guilt, the sense of powerlessness, devours you. The feeling of never having made the difference, of not having done enough. Not enough. I know this feeling so well. And believe me” he stared at him as if he wanted to imprint his face on fire in his mind  “even if you had made other choices, under different circumstances, we would always have ended up like this, at this same point. I have seen infinite worlds, countless of those created by our Father. I have known countless ourselves, innumerable divinities, innumerable creations. I've seen endless versions of the same story. Different screenplay, different actors, different settings. Same ending”. Were those tears? or was it only the archangelic light that exuded from his intense eyes?

 

"The only constant drama, in each of the universes created by our Father, is the fall of Lucifer and the war started by Michael. However the story begins, whoever  the protagonist and the surrounding actors are, it always ends up like this ... a brother kills the other brother. Whatever his name is. I saw a universe where Hosts were exterminated by the voice of the Antichrist - and I saw Lucifer destroy Michael, and us, and Raphael. And then devour the Antichrist himself, and reign alone on an empty world ... I saw worlds in which Michael killed Lucifer, and ended up devoured by his own ambition, dragging his own universe into the Void... I saw the ancient Gods take the field, in some worlds, help the Apocalypse, foment it, or fight it. Nothing has changed ... The only variant, the only loose cannon that changed Destiny? Your world. The only one in which the apocalypse did not happen, thanks to the Winchesters. To YOUR Winchester ... the only ones who have not accepted their role". His voice had become a gentle breeze, a whisper, a caress on the forest battered by their real voices. It rested slowly on the fallen trunks, on the shattered mosses, lingering on the earth unhinged at the foundation... "Your Winchesters are not unique, but they are unique. You have to go back to them. Alive. No kamikaze fantasies, Ronin ... I know what trick you wanted to use. And believe me, it would have been difficult even in full power, against Michael, let alone in this pitiful state”. But his sentence was not out of pity now. It was a simple statement.

 

_True, by the way._

 

"So what do you suggest? If we really have little time, how did you plan to use it? Telling me the story of the celestial kingdoms from the origins to the present? _Intergalactic Guide to the Universe_? "

 

"One of us is enough for all the worlds"

 

"What is this supposed to mean?" Gabriel was beginning to suspect something, and tried to slip out of his double's grip. But those hands looked like iron clamps.

 

"It means we don't have time to review the previous installment. So we will do it brutally and without foreplay. I'm sorry if it hurts” his grin replaced the deadly sadness of a little while before, a fake grin like the one he himself was so keen to put on “but I know you're fond of certain ... _practices_. There is an important lesson you need to learn, and I don't have time to teach it in the conventional way".

 

Before he could reply, his other Gabriel moved his hands from his forearms to his temples, clutching his head in an unyielding grip.

 

Gabriel swallowed. He understood what was waiting for him.

 

"Oh no ... you have no idea, sweetie!" His alter ego hissed, and his eyes became blue-gold, shining with that strange Grace brimful of magic.

 

The world became black and cold. An agonizing pain crossed his vessel, and his angelic essence, his true self.

 

Gabriel screamed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....because that's just how it really went, right?  
> sorry if it's too long, it should have been a single shot story, turned out as a part of something longer...  
> as always, open to suggestions, critics, everything.


	3. “Beginning of Beginnings, Ending of Endings”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it begins, there it ends. There's been enough of pain...and it all ends here.

_*****************************_

_“Let your arms enfold us_

_Through the dark of night_

_Will your angels hold us_

_'Til we see the light?”_

_*****************************_

_He was flying over the waters of Time and Space. As it once was, at the dawn of existence, before the Earth was created, when the Universe, his and the others, were still newborns..._

_Without wings, only as a multidimensional angelic wavelength, extended into the infinite angles and folds of every reality ... everywhere and at the same time in no place. It was the covenant. See without taking part. Observe without intervening. Never two of the same in the same place._

_It was a long lonely road, neverending, all-way stretched towards the infinite. He could see billions of beings just at the sides of the road, talking, living, loving, dying...but they could not see him. A thin, invisible wall was stretched all the way down that road, a crystal wall, which made him understand that only his conscience was walking down the road of time, and not his body, trapped in the Apocalypse World, at the hands and disposal of his doppleganger. A thin, crystal wall, meant to separate his being from those who had already played their roles in the mainstream of their Universe._

_The wall who had always been sort of given in his aeons-long existence._

_He had never truly been a part of anything. He had never truly belonged to anywhere. Or to anyone. If he had died right there and then, who would have taken notice? Who’d have cried? Did he matter, to anybody? Would have he cried?_

_He touched the wall. He could not cross it...just watch. Just be a witness._

_He saw another Heaven, newborn and pure, so different and at the same time so similar to the one he knew so well. The one he had never seen again. Heaven’s Garden, where he, Gabriel, had been a Keeper for endless eons. His heart - if a heart had he born - clung to him like a cold night. He was rapturous in the endless beauty of the Garden, his task..._

_He saw himself, his other himself, young among the ancients ... lovingly raised by his brother Lucifer._

_He saw himself, lovingly growing countless fledglings, his younger brothers._

_He saw the supreme creation of his Father, the Earth. He saw his own marvel, and that of his brothers._

_He saw the dawn of Humanity._

_He saw the snake of hatred and jealousy make its way in the grace of his beloved Lucifer._

_He saw Eden. He saw the Tree, and the Fall._

_He saw Gabriel, the other Gabriel, coming down to Earth, rejecting contention and crossing his arms, shouting his despair at deaf-mute stars._

_He saw Gabriel descending on Earth, in the body of a young Norse woman, of divine lineage, born in the cold lands of the North. Pale flax hair, almost silvery white, eyes shining in the shades of the winter ocean under a storm. A shiver ran through him ... that vessel he knew all too well... That unearthly beauty able to unsettle even the God’s minds. The power of the Seidhr so strong in her veins… .Vessel chosen not by chance._

_He saw Gabriel wandering among the lands of the Norse gods, entering the court of Walhalla, bonding a pact of blood with Odin and Baldur. He saw him (her?) building and taking down kingdoms. Raising and dethroning whole Pantheons. He saw Gabriel becoming more and more a pagan Divinity, and less and less an Archangel._

_He then saw the screams, the pain. He saw the fight, continuous, unstoppable, inexorable. He saw arrays of hosts fall, brothers against brothers, sisters against sisters. Angels butchering other angels._

_He saw Michael hurl Lucifer into the Underworld, and the fight continuing, and the Hosts falling one against the other, in a fratricidal conflict. Brother against Brother, forever._

_He saw his brother, Lucifer, so beloved ... locked up in the Cage._

_He heard his screams. The Earth broke apart at the sound of his screams. The heart of the Earth boiled with magma, following the trail of his howling despair, the betrayal of the Father._

_Brother against Sister_

_Brother against Brother_

_Father against Son_

_Nothing changed, never, anywhere ... Gabriel was right._

_The Universe was born, everywhere, on betrayal - and on betrayal it prospered._

_In each version, in every draft, in every masterpiece, the beginning was the same ..._

_"In the beginning there were a brother and a sister, one thing. Light and Darkness, Being and Non-Being together. Then the Being created other Being, other than itself, and the Non-Being suffered separation, and tried to take back what had been taken away from it. Thus the Being enclosed and sealed the Non-Being, and ruled by itself. Founding his Kingdom on the betrayal of the Blood"_

_In each version, his Father, the one and only, betrayed his own kin, the one and only, with the help of the infinite variations and versions of his four Sons._

_US._

_First lesson of the Father. Sacrifice your family too._

_He saw Gabriel making a final choice. He saw him lure Loki into his arms._

_And devouring him._

_Consuming his Being, his Power, his Magic._

_He saw Gabriel absorbing him, and becoming him. The last magic, the most ferocious, the most ruthless. The one that even Loki, who had taught it to him after a devastatingly heavy night of booze and women, would never have used, too well aware of the risk, of the outcomes. And of the pain._

_Being this the reason why Gabriel had never even thought of such an eventuality, relying on Loki himself to get his face and his appearance, through another kind of magic. To change his body, his too ... to never be found again, to never be Gabriel the Archangel again._

_He saw the other Gabriel mangled, writhing in agony, he heard him screaming in his true voice, crossing dimensions, causing cataclysms and devastation on the face of the Earth and of the planets, while his body changed, evolved and transformed._

_After nine long nights, he saw him getting up, dead and risen from himself. Man now, in Loki's body and from Loki’s body. Locked inside of his former vessel, now his body._

_Loki himself, with all his powers and knowledges._

_He saw Mother Mary reject the Devil's Bargain. He saw her screaming her pain over the body of the man oh so loved, dead ... he saw Heaven’s masterplan falling to pieces._

_He saw the Cage opening up, and the Infernal Forces rising again, under Lucifer’s lead._

_He saw the birth of the Antichrist - and he saw his own brothers, the Holiest, stained with the blood of an innocent virgin and a newborn, just to break their brother’s hopes in the bud._

_He saw Lucifer, his beloved brother, run to Gabriel, asking him, for the first and last and only time, his help, asking him to trust him. Asking to help him building a new world, devoid of the Father's failures, a world of Angels and Gods, not of Humans ..._

_He saw Gabriel staring at him emotionlessly, saw him turning his back on him, and leaving... "I’m loyal to humanity"._

_He saw Lucifer's death at the hands of his conjoint brothers ... Michael and Raphael, together, two against one._

_The Universe was born, everywhere, on betrayal - and on betrayal prospered._

_First lesson of the Father. Sacrifice your family too._

_He saw them breaking down the Gates of Hell and disbanding the Demons and damned souls on Earth. He saw them conversing, and deciding the extermination of the human race._

_Same incipit, same outcome: none of them was better than the other, in any of the possible imagined worlds ..._

_He saw a world without the Winchester brothers, a world that had not been saved, in more than a sense ... In this world, Castiel had never rebelled against Paradise - that breath of humanity had never been completely awakened, and the torture and reset by dear old Naomi, having become effective and unopposed, had deprived him of any possible scruple and love, turning him into the ruthless torture machine that served Michael. So there had been no rebellious angels, there had been no internecine wars, that’s true ... all united under the aegis of Michael and Raphael, all united to exterminate their younger brothers._

_All except one._

_He saw Ananiel, his proud, majestic little sister, the strongest of the Guardians ... he saw her looking for him endless millennia from the sky, when he fled - no, when Gabriel fled ... but were they not the same? - to the point of descending herself on earth, in a vessel, and search for him relentlessly, calling him by his real name .... looking for his beloved older brother ... He saw her proudly and majestically stand up against Michael, rejecting the extermination of the human beings, asking him justifications of his deeds... He saw her trying to recruit his most beloved brothers, Castiel and Balthazar, to her cause._

_And he saw Castiel and Balthazar deliver Ananiel to torture, to Naomi, to fix her ..._

_He saw her escaping, hiding on earth, an angel among humanity, under the name of Anna, warning them when the first cataclysms announced Lucifer's death and the victory of Heaven, to help them, to protect them._

_Single rebel angel. Alone against her entire family. Rebel, with nothing but a cause to fight for, and maybe to die for._

_He saw her finding the Prophetess of the Lord, the one who would give voice to his Father's voice: Marla was her name. A tiny creature with kind eyes and a smile able to melt Pluto's ice._

_Gabriel winced in his astral flight "Marla?"_

_He saw Anna and Marla becoming close, and organizing human resistance when the first Angels came to Earth._

_He saw the Hosts descending on Earth, bearing light and grace and the word of the Lord._

_He saw humanity falling on their knees to adore the Children of the Heaven, the holiest of their Father’s creations._

_He saw the Angels evaporating thousands of mothers and children rushed to worship the Children of God, hands raising in joy and singing praise to the Lord for sending his Angels to protect and guide them, to hold them and watch over them._

_Their older brothers. Their murderers._

_He saw Ananiel summon Gabriel, the patron archangel of Marla._

_He saw Gabriel ignoring the call, for months and months._

_After all, he stood for nothing, he didn't care anymore._

_Until Lucifer's death._

_It was then when Gabriel understood Michael's intentions._

_And took the field._

_He saw Michael finding the angel tablet, hidden by a runaway Metatron along with the others, but unable to read it, and kidnapping Marla….trying to grope her with flattery and threats, to side with him ... he saw Marla, small tiny and fragile, pretending to give her consent to be delivered the tablet._

_And he saw her using a spell from that same tablet to escape with it._

_He watched her working tirelessly to translate it and destroy Michael, by locking up the angels in Heaven._

_He saw Gabriel watching over her, delicate, inexplicably delicate. His dark, cold, inexpressive ways, melting into tenderness in front of the innocent courage of that girl, quite not more than a teenager, who had the courage to cheat Michael and run away._

_Hiding the tablet inside her own soul to keep it from being sensed by the guards, as she crossed the boundaries of her prison._

_And he saw._

_He saw Michael._

_He saw Odin and his Hosts collide, in a desperate attempt to protect the most precious and powerful thing that Michael still lacked in his delirium of almightiness._

_He saw the Gods falling one after the other in front of the throne room. He saw them sealing with the oldest of spells, Freewill Death, a room that was intended not to be opened, a passage that had to be kept closed, a magic that should not fall into wrong hands._

_A knowledge that was forbidden if not for a few ones._

_And he saw._

_He saw Raphael._

_He saw him finding the camp of Ananiel and Marla, whilst Gabriel was rushing to side Odin and prevent Michael from getting THAT power._

_He saw Ananiel, Anna, surrounded and attacked by four of her brothers, he saw her fighting fiercely to reach Marla, he saw her falling. He heard her screams. Angels butchering other angels._

_And he saw._

_He saw Raphael approaching Marla like a wolf on a deer. He saw Marla holding an Angel blade and trying a desperate defense, while around her humans were falling like cut flowers from the passage of the threshing..._

_He saw Raphael mangling her body and her soul to take from her flesh the tablet, hidden in her soul to prevent anybody from getting to it, even after her inevitable death. He saw Raphael tearing her body apart and taking the tablet, and delivering it to Michael ... rising from a field forever stained with undying blood._

_He saw Gabriel coming back in a blink of an eye, abandoning the fight for the extreme defence of Walhalla ... he saw him feeling Marla's death, saw him falling silently on his knees. He saw him trying to bring Marla back, unsuccessfully, as Raphael had destroyed her soul, just to take back the tablet, making it exploding in a thousand luminous splinters, evaporated as soon as out of her body, as soon as it touched Raphael's archangelic killer grace._

_He saw him taking Marla's head in his hands, as he had just done with him ... he saw him working his ancient magic._

_And he understood. He understood that Gabriel had extracted from Marla all the memories and knowledge of the angel tablet. He had taken with him the only thing that remained of Marla: her sacrifice for something greater than her, than them all. A knowledge that would allow them to fight Michael on equal terms._

_He saw him standing motionless among the corpses, for hours, for days. Then he saw him get up. And bringing the corpses of his friends and companions to nothing, evaporating them, turning them into sand. The remainings of his Marla, tiny and wise Marla, with her bright and smiling eyes. Dust to dust._

_"Did I mean anything to you, Marla? Or have I been just another Archangel to fear and worship? The Archangel entrusted to protect you, and who so miserably failed the only task that really mattered? Did I mean something to you? Or have I been just a luminous figure of darkness that could burn the Earth with a beating of wings? Tell me Marla ... what were you seeing when you stared at me with those inscrutable eyes?"_

_He saw Gabriel flying away, saw him scouring the Earth on beating wings._

_He saw Michael finding the new prophet, Kevin ... and convincing him to translate the angel tablet, to become almighty. Persuading him as Marla had refused to be persuaded. Deaf to threats and promises._

_He saw Gabriel finding one of Michael's outposts, where Kevin was held prisoner, to tirelessly translate…._

_He saw him finding Raphael at the camp, first in command, organizing the Hosts to hunt humans and demons to be exterminated._

_And he saw._

_He saw Gabriel facing his brother in the dusking woods, attracted by the promise of unconditional surrender. He saw him tearing Raphael out of his vessel, tearing at his human body to extract his grace in the most painful and brutal way feasible._

_Mano a mano, as in ancient wars of old, over celestial battlefields._

_He saw him tearing his grace from his body and shredding it to pieces, so that he could never again find peace or return to life, in this and other worlds. He saw him tearing apart his brother's unearthly form, pure screaming light at his agony._

_He saw Gabriel once again making a final choice. He saw him luring his brother’s dying Grace._

_And devouring it, consuming it._

_Devouring his Being, his Power, his Magic._

_He saw Gabriel absorbing him, and becoming him._

_And then ... the silence. No sound could be heard. No sound would have been ever hear anymore, in that place. **The rays of the setting sun splashed around him, coating him in scarlets and crimsons, leaving him unable to escape the visual of blood forever smearing his hands.** His brother's blood._

_And he saw._

 

_He saw Gabriel leaving the scene of this dying world. He saw Gabriel returning to Walhalla, and burying the divine corpses in the same room that they had sealed with their own blood. He saw him closing the Palace’s Gates forever, uttering the oldest spell of seidhr, and making Walhalla vanish in the folds of time, out of the worlds, in the shadows of nowhere, where Michael could no longer reach it... while sealing every another passage that through that door, and through what it had hidden for eons, could be created. Sealing along with it also Heaven's Garden, entrusted to him. Now and forever._

_He saw Gabriel, eternally seated in contemplation, night clothed, inweaved in runes, inside the Throne Room, ever watchful Guardian, a statue of eternally unchanging grief and regret and remorse, traveling through the ripples of reality, widening and reshaping his Being through the knowledge of the worlds....through the magic acquired in the abysses of the Abyss._

_He saw Gabriel swallowed by his own self-loathe, by his regrets and remorse. He saw him buried alive, a cold stone statue, everlasting Macbeth madness flowing through his being...he saw that dark blue magic taking roots inside his silver blue grace, clinging like poison ivy, its long tentacles digging into his heart and mind, dragging him deeper and deeper. He saw him falling endlessly inside his darkness, falling to the nameless horror  inside his heart._

_He saw him dying still being alive._

 

****************************************************

 

**_"I’m not really surprised that you murdered him."_ **

 

Gabriel's voice was hoarse and weak, it didn't even seem his own when he heard it coming out of his throat, "he was your brother but he was no longer him. And in your place, I would have done the same, if he had..." but he could not complete the sentence.

 

He was back in his body, but the pain must have been so heartbreaking to make him fell on his knees. Gabriel's hands were still on his temples ... yet something was different.

 

They were no longer in the woods. They were in a cold and dark place, beneath his knees only ancient and worn stone, the signs of the time on the ancient grey walls, and everywhere a gloomy twilight. Roofless halls, silently floating around him, enclosed the vast and void space that seem to engulf time itself. Here yet nowhere.

 

"This place is familiar to me ... where are we? Do not tell me…."

 

"Yup".

 

That syllable was enough.

 

_WALHALLA._

 

They were in the Hall of the Gods, in Gabriel's Palace.

 

But something was wrong. The face he was staring at now, it was just like his own. With the soft beard gone, the long hair gone, now as short as his...only his deep gold whiskey eyes were just the same as before.

 

"Gabriel? your face ... your hair ... "

 

"Aaahhhh yes yes, I decided it was time for a change, after too many uncounted years... Hoggr was now complaining, he said he would start braiding my hair if I didn't leave that stupid _a-la-Loki_ look to be again the "real" Archangel, whatever it meant ... _why not now_? I told myself” and he grinned with his half-narrow smile.

 

But something was wrong.

 

"There is someone else here"

 

"Yup. Hoggr, come forward, I'll introduce you to the other myself ... well, one of the many "

 

" _Master_ " A voice devoid of any inflection, nuance, even devoid of life. It would have been the metallic voice of an electronic device, if it had not been for the deep, icy roar that could be heard from the bottom of the body of that ... what? _being? creature?_

 

His body was human, or at least so it seemed. A man of indefinable age, with short bronze-colored hair, strong and solid, dressed in the Norse manner like his master, heavy and regal clothing of ancient times, not this very ones. So concrete. Yet something was wrong.

 

_His eyes._

 

Old eyes like those of Jack, he understood in a flash of intuition. Golden green eyes that almost did not show pupils. Precious gems too bright to be human.

 

Who was this being really?

 

"Gabriel, there is no time. Michael is already on their trail” his doppelganger’s voice woke him up from the painful awe he was into. The pain was coming back and forth in waves, leaving him breathless "The pain you are feeling now is nothing compared to what you will feel when you wake up. I'm sorry but I have no other choice. It must end here and now, at least for me. This world has already had too much damage from me and my brothers. Our time is over. Another world is possible, and you must swear to me that when I am gone, you will do what I could not do. You still have your Marla” he repeated.

 

"Yeeeeeeah... ‘bout that ... what the fuck is this about?

 

"Hoggr will explain to you, I have no more time. I have to go. No, don't interrupt ....I know what you want ... you wanna die. Well, after all, we are just the same, despite different circumstances and choices "

 

And so saying, he touched him on his forehead.

 

And everything went dark.

 

****************************************************

 

_"Hey. Found him? "_

_"No. Gabriel went ahead to scout, but he should be back by now. "_

 

Gabriel, frantically running through the forest, broke out onto the road where the Resistance group was waiting for orders. Behind his back, Michael's angel squad was pursuing him.

 

" _Angels!_ " He shouted, almost out of breath.

 

They would have no hope, and they would all die there ... if it wasn't for Lucifer.

 

_But then, did I also know this coming, right? all according to the plan ..._

 

****************************************************

 

_“It is really killing you, you’re not out there impressing your kid, huh? Lucifer, do you really see a version here where he sticks by you?”_

_“I think the kid is pretty blown away by his old man, so... Yeah. I do.”_

_“He’s a kid. He likes shiny objects and magic tricks. But he’s not like you. I can see it in his eyes. His mother’s bloodline, the Winchesters’ influence…”_

_Or at least I hope so. For you, I hope, because they all will bring him back into their world, and someone will have to guide him, someone with his own blood. And it can't be this idiot of my brother ... You are my brother and I love you, but you are a chucklehead, in this and in other worlds ..._

Lucifer cut him out of his thoughts _"I can be an influence."_

_“Ugh. He’s not gonna want that. He’ll see who...what you are.”_

_“I’ve changed.”_

_Seriously?! You really wanna try this on me?!_

_“Dude, it’s me. I’ve known you since the stars were made. You can’t change. You’re incapable of empathy or love. You live to be worshiped or feared. Or both.”_

_“Okay. I--I see that you’ve -- you’ve drunk the Kool-Aid. Fine.”_

_“Oh, is this the part where you tell me that, uh, Dad made up all those so-called lies about you? Got it.”_

_“Yeah! Yeah, Pop locked me up, okay?”_

_Is it possible that you didn't understand, brother? why in the end I did not help you, why I turned my back on you and joined forces with humanity? Is it possible that you really never doubted of yourself? You, Michael, Raphael ... you have never had any doubts. Straight to the goal. And if something gets in the way, destroy it._

_Is it possible that it was only me to have always doubts, and always sought answers, only to doubt again?_

_“Don’t you get it? Humans were innocent and beautiful. But you...you couldn’t stand that the old man loved them more than He loved you. So you tempted them and corrupted them just to prove how flawed they were.”_

_“You better be careful, man.”_

_Even now ... even now ... rather than doubting ... do you want to threaten, seal the mouth of truth?_

_If only you had understood, you had so much potential….you could have been human...WE could have been human, together…_

_“Dad saw that your evil was like the first few cells of cancer...that it would spread like the disease unless He cut it out. That is why He locked you up, to stop the cancer. But it was too late then. And guess what? It’s too late for you now.”_

_I wanted to tell you this so much. Like I never could do on that day. Nor have I ever been able to, since you have seen fit to get yourself killed and leave ourselves in the hands of that crazy narcissist with omnipotence syndrome ..._

 

****************************************************

_So this is the end?_

 

Michael's smile was sarcastic, and cruel. This wasn’t his beloved big boring bro...this was...what? His lips curving in acknowledgment.

 

_HE HAD UNDERSTOOD._

 

The others were too human, and too weak. But not Michael. He knew. He had seen. That's why he was smiling, like a predator looking forward to his meal. Also in his current state, devoid of grace, his true essence was clearly visible. His six dark wings, his twisted grace. This was _HIS_ Gabriel, not the other, the stranger ...

 

_"Can it be? Gabriel?"_

_And who should it be, big fool?_

 

**_AFTER SO MUCH TIME, BROTHER ... I HAVE NO MORE SEEN OR SENSED YOU, AFTER THE "ACCIDENT" WITH RAPHAEL IN TUNGUSKA ... WE HAD TO MOVE ALL OF THE MAIN CAMP, AFTER THAT SLAUGHTER ..._ **

****

**_WHAT CAN I SAY….I LIKE THE IDEA OF AN EXPLOSIVE BIG FINALE. EVEN NOW…_ **

****

**_AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR GRACE, AND TO RAPHAEL’S? WHERE DID YOU LEAVE YOUR MAGIC? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU, BROTHER? ESCAPING FOR EONS, AND WHEN FINALLY YOU SHOW UP, YOU ARE SO HELPLESS AND POWER LACKING? WHERE DID YOU LEAVE YOUR DARK MAGIC?_ **

****

Gabriel didn't answer, instead he looked at Sam, who was concentrating over the idea of how to kill Michael. The idea that there was not even a pale hope, seemed not to touch him even. Or maybe, he didn't care.

Only Michael mattered, and taking him out at any cost, even dying.

 

But not here, not now. Not him.

 

_You have to keep living. You all. Be what you were meant to be, find what your story is, fulfill your fate. Not here and not now. Take the lead. Jump over._

**_LITTLE BROTHER….YOU REALLY WANNA TRY THIS? YOU TOO? ON ME?!…_ **

****

**_IT ALL ENDS HERE, WHETHER IT’S ME OR YOU_ **

****

**_DON’T TRY AND FOOL ME. NOR YOURSELF. YOU DON’T STAND A CHANCE, IN YOUR CURRENT STATE. THIS IS SUICIDE. YOU’LL DIE, HERE AND NOW, AT MY HANDS_ **

****

**_….I KNOW. THAT’S WHY I AM HERE._ **

****

**_YOU WANNA DIE? SO, BE IT._ **

****

Michael smirked. And took a step forward.

 

_"Go. I can buy some time."_

_"Gabriel, don't."_ Sam's voice was a plea ... could it be? Could that be…?

_"All I did on Earth was run. I’m not running any more. "_

_I hope you're matching our expectations. Be the leader they deserve. Live for both of us. You have this family of yours ... you still have someone. I only have my Fate waiting for me. Here and now._

_Brother against brother._

He took a few more steps towards his end. And looked one more time at Sam. To that bright, shining soul. They were just the same, in the end….

_"Go!"_

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually where I fit the prompt from the Gabriel Monthly Challenge, cause it was just right.  
> Sorry if I'm torturing him, but hey, he started it, I just decided to stop his plans before it was too late!  
> Thanks for reading, if you did :)


	4. “The leading bird”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions have to be taken. And maybe, there's a hope for humanity, and heaven too...

********************************************

_“That life is grand in all its shapes,_

_Whether it gives, whether it takes._

_That I am you, you are me, and_

_Loving grace can set us free”_

********************************************

 

He woke up screaming, and yelling, and howling. The walls were shaking at the sound of his true voice.

 

Then the echo went out, and only the dancing snake remained under the door's edge ...

 

Gabriel threw himself out of bed and out of the room ... only to take notice that someone, maybe the voice that had welcomed him back to life when he had woken up on the cold stone pavement in the main hall of Walhalla _(Hoggr?)_ , had taken off his shoes .

 

So he turned back.

 

And it was then that he noticed it.

 

_Where the fuck did my clothes and my shoes go!?_

 

Because Gabriel was now dressed in black. Pants in heavy wool inlaid with runes, several layers of historiated tunics, tightened at the waist by a leather belt, and on the shoulders, a black cape decorated with ancient and protective runes. At the foot of the bed, high studded dark leather boots. Of its precise size.

 

_His size..._

 

He put on his boots and an idea made its way into his head ...

 

_"You wanna die, but I say ... keep living."_

 

_What did you do, Gabriel?_

 

He rushed (again) out of the room, running through the corridors and the rooms. Nine corridors and nine flights of stairs counted, grey stone walls and cold pavements, dim greyish light coming from no seen source, before arriving on the ground floor, in a place that was not known to him, since it was not the same room where he had woken up before.

 

At the end of the small room there was a heavy, huge oak door, adorned with intricate vegetable drawings carved out of a metal that was certainly not human, at the same time decoration, magic and enhancement, for what, he thought, it was supposed to be hidden behind. No one would have used such magic light-heartedly.

 

He didn't even had to use his magic. As it approached, the door opened on its own, as if obeying an otherworldly call.

 

_The Master’s call._

 

Gabriel was prepared for anything but what he saw there. Something he had not seen for millennia, which he believed lost forever, and in any case. Something too powerful to fall into Michael's hands.

 

In a roofless room of white marble, flooded with trascendental light, nothing resembling like the rest of the Palace, naked and cold and bare, made of dark gray stone, stood It.

 

_YGGDRASILL._

 

The Sacred Tree.

The Tree of Life.

The Tree of Souls.

The Tree of Knowledge.

 

It was born from the bare rock, from the ground, and was lost in the ceiling. But Gabriel knew that if he went down to the dungeons, or climbed up to the upper halls, he would have found no trace of the rest of the Tree. This was its magic and its peculiarity.

 

Being anywhere and nowhere, physical yet spiritual, real yet metaphysical. One yet Nine.

 

_The passage between the Worlds of all the Worlds._

 

At his feet, in place of the benches and the banquet tables, countless white stone sarcophaguses stretched, as far as the eye could see.

 

_The tombstones of the Gods ..._

 

The banquet hall had become, now and forever, the mausoleum of a divine dynasty extinct at the hands of Michael.

 

He approached the tombs, and something shrinked inside his chest, seeing those faces he had known for thousands of years, patronised, maybe even loved, on the other side. Only one tomb was missing .... _Loki_.

 

He touched those faces one by one. The faces of an acquired family who had never replaced his real family. The grief too deep, the loss too deep...the need to belong to something, to _someone..._ just too desperate.

 

_Have you ever mattered? Has ever someone cared about you?_

 

"Impressive, isn't it?" The icy voice came out of the shadows, and walked towards him.

He had not even heard him approaching...

 

"Uhuh, yeeeaah ... I understand why my hum, look-alike, had that gloomy and brio-free grimace. I mean, living here for seven years in the company of the dead, memories, and remorse is not the best group therapy desirable for overcoming childhood traumas..." that voice made him feel small and uncomfortable, so he just tried to put on his mockery mask again - yet, he could sense it wasn't working anymore. The Trickster’s era was coming to an end, just like Loki died. No more tricks.

 

"Show some respect towards my master. He died for you, for all of you. At least have the dignity of keeping yourself quiet" that hissing voice was so calm, yet he felt that it held something deeper under the surface. Something hidden in the dark, craving to slip out.

 

"Dead….?"

 

"Sure. What else did you think? He took your place. The Serpent eats my tongue if someone has noticed the difference, in his condition ... he got what he wanted most, oblivion, void, empty…. and you got your second chance".

 

"In his condition? what does this mean? Second chance?"

 

Hoggr tilted his head slightly to the side, watching him with shining eyes. "Can't you feel it? Why do you think you slept so much, like dead? why do you think you have felt so much pain? don't you feel it, inside of you? "

 

Gabriel froze in place. He drew back within himself, clinging to the few fragments of dying grace that remained to him ... .. _and he felt it_.

 

As soon as he appealed to it, his Grace exploded powerful within him. It was his, and at the same time it wasn't exactly his. And inside of it, in the heart of deep darkness, he felt more and more ... arcane power of the ancient runes, the power of Loki, and of other ancient Gods that Gabriel, the other Gabriel ... _he had devoured, like Loki_ , he thought with horror…

 

And then he went deeper, and there, dormant, he also saw Raphael's devoured grace, waiting to be unleashed, used, manipulated ... the power of his cold and silent healing magic deeply buried in his being, as heavy and ponderous as Earth herself. And together, many other voices ... human, inhuman, angelic, divine, demonic...

 

_What did you do, Gabriel ?!_

 

Then he saw her. In front of his eyes, bright and vivid....Marla's smiling conscience.

 

_AND THE MAGIC OF THE ANGEL TABLET._

 

"So you feel it ... My Master deprived himself of his own grace to give it to you, to make you consume it…..since you’re just the same, as one, there was no risk, well...no outright risk, in making you consume his Grace. He put you to sleep, then mutilated himself, and relocated his grace into you, along with all the knowledge he was imbued with, retaining only the smallest part that was necessary for him to heal himself and to fly where you had disappeared. Where he was needed. Only grace deprived, he could have fooled everyone"

 

"Why?"

 

"Why what?"

 

"Why did he die for me? Couldn't he go on living and let me die? after all, _I_ was useless, not him. _He_ had the power, not me. It doesn’t make sense"

 

"It doesn’t, nor should it. It’s not about power. It’s about life, and death. And purposes. Or lack of them. And guilt. He wanted to die. But he didn’t want his death to be useless and aimless ... but telling you this, you who lived without purpose, without defending anything, someone standing for nothing like you did, it is meaningless. He was just waiting for the proper moment to die. You offered it to him. That's all. YOU still have a reason to live, to go back there ... you have a family. He didn’t, not anymore. "

 

Gabriel inhaled….So that was it: _he_ was his legacy. _He_ was his keeper.

 

Gabriel had passed on to him all his knowledge and that of Raphael and Loki ... but there was something else: he had given him also the knowledge extracted from the mind of dead Marla, the whole knowledge of Angel Tablet….Marla who had managed to translate it and understand it all, Marla who was the greatest and holiest of all the Prophets of the Lord...so he now possessed it, while Michael did not: Kevin had come much later and was inept, and weak. A pale imitation of the Prophet that Marla had been…

 

_I don't want this burden, this responsibility ... all this knowledge, this power ... it's too much even for me. There are boundaries set, for me too. Even if...The Angel tablet ... with this power we could actually destroy Michael. And maybe save Heaven from collapse. And Jack from himself….and the Universe, from Jack…._

 

This awareness made his stomach twitch: so maybe _he could_ be useful for something, after all….he could help his family, and people.

 

"The Knowledge of the Angel Tablet will help us destroy Michael once and for all. I have to look for him now" he blurted while storming towards the entrance of the Hall.

 

"Too late. Michael and Lucifer, your Lucifer, have created a rift and run to your world. Michael is no longer here, none of yours is here".

 

Terror took possession of Gabriel. With a hardly steady voice, he asked "How long did I sleep?"

 

"Uhm... after the Master had healed you, about a day and a half. After I took you to his rooms ... about three days, something more maybe…."

 

_Five days…. Michael is five days ahead…. By now he will have already set the earth on fire…_

 

Desperation tried to claim on him, again. He _was_  useless after all, he had missed his chance, again.

 

"I have to leave immediately. Is the rift still open?” But he already knew the answer ... he felt no pulsation between the membranes of reality.

 

"No, it has already closed. It was weak, anyway. I guess they had used Lucifer's little grace for the spell ... it didn't even last 24 hours"

 

"I have to find the ingredients and ..."

 

"Ingredients?" Hoggr tilted his head to the side again, looking at him in that cold and irritating way "What good is a silly low-league angelic spell, if you're in front of the portal between the Worlds?"

 

_Yggdrasill, sure... but in order to pass you must know the ancient runes, those that only Odin, and my Father, knew. That's why they were the ones who guarded the Tree. And that’s why I have never been able to cross the folds of reality, to cross to other Universes. We can just manipulate time and space in OUR Universe…._

 

Then he felt it, making his way from the depths ... knowledge. THAT one Gabriel had fully transmitted to him. Knowledge of ancient aeons, which in his world had never become accessible even to him, Gabriel.

 

_‘Cuz you never wanted to overcome certain boundaries..._

 

He could cross the Worlds, it seemed.

 

"Hoggr, I have to go now. There is no time to lose. Michael must be stopped now. I will come back as soon as possible” and turned to run towards the Tree.

 

"GABRIEL!!!"

 

The voice rang out, completely different from before ... who was this one really?

 

"Think about it" the voice was cold and expressionless "You are Gabriel's legacy. YOU ARE GABRIEL, now. Now and forever. This world no longer owns anything, it no longer owns Gods, it no longer owns Archangels - because Michael will not return, whatever end is awaiting him, he will face it from the other side of the veil - it no longer has hope, nothing ... only infinite hosts of angelic killing machines programmed by Michael to destroy it. And they will not stop until they have fulfilled their task. As long as..." and his voice made itself a whisper, so as to force Gabriel to approach him to hear him "...as long as someone does not decide that that angel tablet, and the prophet, are useful and interesting material, to claim the title of Lord of Heaven. Gabriel, the tablet is still in the hands of the Angels, and it's dangerous".

 

He stared into his eyes, and went on "They need a leader ... .they’re like a flock without a leading bird. They’ll eventually die or kill themselves. Master Gabriel had already seen that..."

 

_What did you do, Gabriel? Did you really use the Portal to travel between worlds? And why did you do it? Look at our Father ... knowledge does not make us free, but only immensely sad ..._

 

"Ananiel is still out there, somewhere, alive, weak but alive. Gabriel never managed to find her, but maybe, now that Michael has disappeared, she will come out into the open. Ananiel is the only one Angel with a thinking brain, a brain of free will, the only one that can give real guidance to these crazy migratory birds. And we don't know what happened to Metatron, and the other tablets ...They are a threat, without control"

 

"What do you want me to do, then? start the great scavenger hunt?" Gabriel's voice was tired and weary. He knew Hoggr was right...he owed it to Gabriel who had given him a reason, and life, and his grace, and knowledge...And the chance to go back to his family, his...

 

_I OWE THEM THIS ONE_

 

He had to try and repair the damage done by his brothers, all his brothers. The whole Michael problem could not be postponed - but he could not abandon this poor mangled humanity in the hands of murdering angels…He had to fix something, for once.

 

_I can’t go running anymore, as I always did. It must be here and now._

 

As soon as he had learned to handle this new grace, alien and at the same time familiar, he could have crossed the boundaries of worlds, like Gabriel did, and check the situation even without crossing the veil, only in his astral form.

 

But now he had to save these people, just so he could head back to his family ... True, he had not fled, he was ready to face death to give meaning to his life: but now he understood that it was not by dying that he would have helped them.

 

He had a purpose, and his life had to be the fulfilling of that purpose ... Besides, Castiel had described to him the desperate situation of Heaven: the angels were on their way to extinction, twelve angels and an archangel would not have held up the borders of the kingdom.

 

New angels were needed - and he could have recruited them among them, in extreme cases…He could make the difference, it seemed, for once. Now he was one step ahead, and could fix something for real, instead of just putting a plaster over his Father's messes.

 

Men was a Winchesters’ charge. He, Gabriel, had to take care of his screwed up family, here first, then over there. No point in the risk of having another Michael come claiming both worlds.

 

It was then that the glyphs of the angel tablet inscribed in Marla's memory flashed before his eyes.

 

_The angel tablet was used by my Father to create the Angels ... not the Archangels, that was all other stuff, tough stuff, primordial soup ... but the angels….yes. And if in the tablet I could find.. .._

 

"Okay, Hoggr ... I'll go find the tablet and bring it here, then we'll decide what to do. In one of the rooms I went through I saw some objects - Gabriel ... did he _collect artifacts_? "

 

"Collecting is not the right word. Let's say he sealed them here to keep them from falling into wrong hands. Here, at least, no one can reach them. It was just me and him, and well ... now you. So they’re safe. The Angel Tablet will also be. If you bring it here, I will personally look after it, like everything else, as I pledged the Master before he went to his death. I will keep his work safe and sound forever”.

 

"I'll be back soon. You keep watch, look after the house, don't open up to strangers, and don't take payperview subscriptions during my absence. Unless it’s porn. _Good porn_. See ya".

 

That said, he placed both palms on the white trunk of Yggdrasill, and recited the spell words that flowed directly from within. The runes of Odin.

 

Gabriel disappeared in a fading of luminous fog, absorbed by the tree.

 

"Have a good trip, master, and come back. Come back with the tablet ... I'll be here waiting for you"

 

The light of the White Room was suddenly shrouded in gloomy, hazy darkness, and soaked in the smell of rotting flesh…. Yggdrasill shuddered desperately, but Hoggr paid no heed.

 

Free to move inside the building, its shape spread around the trunk of the Tree, careful not to touch the magic of ancient tombs and their sarcophaguses.

 

His coils enveloped the weeping trunk of Yggdrasill.

 

At the first bite, the cries of the Tree resounded in all nine Worlds. Violated, raped, mangled, it screamed through its torture.

 

But Gabriel was far away. And he couldn't hear it screaming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this should have been the end. But I just decided to keep it going, unless I run out of inspiration, or lack of readers :)  
> Especially now, when we know it will all end within one year....  
> So if you enjoyed it, just let me know...thank you!


	5. "Everywhere I go"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Jack questions himself, Cas makes Sam very happy, Sam turns back to some memories he can’t just push aside, and Dean makes clear he's 100% done with everybody.

  

*******************************************

_“_ _All of a sudden,_

_you changed my mind._

_Pulled back the curtains_

_a little at a time._

_You were on a frequency,_

_the perfect opposite of me_

_though i never needed any proof_

_to trust the heart that beats inside of you.”_

*******************************************

 

“I wouldn’t do that”.

Sam’s voice emerged from behind all of a sudden, making Jack startle right on his feet.

“Sam! You scared me” he turned around to face him, but from where Jack was standing, in the dim illumination of the storage room, he could only see Sam’s silhouette against the light which was flowing from the corridors’ lamps. A tall, towering figure almost covering the whole door frame.

“Didn’t mean to, sorry….anyway, I wouldn’t do that” his face was soft and relaxed, features so calm and maternal, yet his voice had a hint of something Jack could not clearly define. Not worry, but something else.

Sam was smiling softly, while coming forward, but the missing dimples that usually were warming his face throughout a genuine happiness smile, were telling him that Sam was only behaving kind and polite. Something was definitely wrong with that thing he was holding, if it caused this sort of reaction with Sam.

“Why?”

Jack’s question was almost obvious, yet Sam didn’t really have a proper answer to offer. He gazed away from Jack, lips tightened and a deep cut forming among his frowned brows.

“Dunno” his voice dropped dry and weary all at once. He shrugged and tried to avoid looking at the thing holden by Jack’s hands “The guy from the pawn shop didn't bother to tell _why_ , but for some reason I think it would be pretty a bad idea to try and find out”.

Jack was puzzled: why would an old, battered, dirty, muzzle-sewed teddy bear be a threat? The once soft fur of the plush was now ragged and rough, some parts even missing the chenille, neck hanging loosely, and the poor thing was also missing an eye...even if it definitely seemed that it never owned the left one, actually. It was more of a pity than a threat, actually.

Because Jack could feel pity for that poor thing...for everything, actually. It was just a fading light, but it was definitely still there, and he was holding close to it, like to dear life.

Jack was still hurt from what happened some days before with Stacy:  everything in the end had just been settled and solved, Stacy was alive, safe and sound, and yet….they _feared him._ More than that, he had sensed their hatred. They _hated_ him.

For what he was, even if they really didn't know _what_ he was….he actually had thought about telling them about his true nature: maybe if they just knew he was a Nephilim, son of Lucifer, murderer of Michael (who had threatened to smite all humankind), maybe they would have just accepted the truth and moved on at least from that issue. Knowing that he was the most unique and powerful of all Universe’s creations, maybe could have explained them what they had seen, and soothed their fears: Sam always told him about the importance of truth and understanding in human relationships, as the only reasonable way to build trust - but again….his father Castiel was still hiding them the truth about his deal, claiming it was just to avoid them further concerns, since it wasn't something they could deal with. It was an act of kindness and protection, he explained Jack: he was protecting them from pain, coming from an unsolvable problem.

Jack was confused, but he had sworn not to tell them, and so he did. Still, he really could not understand whether lying was a good or a bad act, and if it was out of love or selfishness…

Maybe, like he had read in one of the hundreds of books he had dived into during the last months, to find a way to get rid of Michael from Dean's head without killing or dooming him to eternal imprisonment, it was true that the only really meaningful criterion for a straight judgment was the goal you want to achieve: if the goal is good, fair, generous and caring, then you can justify your deeds. All of them.

Maybe that's why they had told him the truth once back from the Kohonta hunt: they were scared, that’s why they lied. Being scared of him was not good (because he was just like a Jedi, like an almighty Genius, wonderful cosmic powers he should only learn how to master for the good, he wasn't evil like his father, so why fear him?), so they ended up by telling him the truth.

Maybe.

He wanted to tell Max and Stacy and Eliot about the truth: he wanted them to accept him and be friend to him. He had three fathers and a cool part-time aunt and maybe a part-time grandma too (even if Mary had laughed to tears, mouth covered by her white hand, when he had asked her, deadly serious face, if he should consider her as a grandmother, since Dean and Sam were his fathers as well as Cas), and he also had a nice uncle (dead, unfortunately….he liked him, and Sam too had told him that his uncle Gabe was really a nice and cool, smooth person to have around).

But after Maggie’s death he didn’t have any real friend anymore, and he was craving for those cool kids’ friendship. He just wanted them to see how good he was, what amazing powers he had, so that he could save the world and be a real hero, like those he was reading about in all the books that Sam had provided him with, taken from his personal library (not the Bunker’s one, that was work stuff, he said).

He wanted to tell them the truth: but looking at the mess he had done, just by showing them a part of himself, he didn’t have the heart anymore to tell the rest. Kaia had no problem accepting him: but maybe she was just different. Just like him. A creature from another world, a creature made differently from all the rest, a creature of immense power, even if not as great as his own.

But Kaia was dead, too. Unfortunately. It seemed that all the people around him, the people he really liked, and matched to,  simply could not survive, or even stay safe. Maybe he was carrying around himself some sort of curse….he should definitely ask Rowena about this.

_Maybe it’s just me….it’s really my fault. What am I, really? I am not human, nor angel, nor demon. I am a Nephilim, and I am unique...which mean, unique. They are just puny kids, they can’t even grasp the enormity of my destiny...so why just overload them? It’s pointless_

So he had just picked up the angel blade from the ground, cleaned the blood with a twist of his will, and put the weapon back inside the internal pocket of his jacket, and had gone inside to collect the books he had hopefully gathered for Eliot. Who now was gone in a rush, following Max to the car and looking for his dull life safety.

_You couldn’t really bear all of this for a lifetime, isn’t it? you just go Goonies over monsters and ghosts, but you couldn’t even stand to see what true power can do...pitiful_

Jack shook himself from that thought: it was not good. He was good. He could not think this. He liked them, they were just too weak. He had protected them by not telling the truth...he should have erased their memories too, for their good, but he didn’t just feel like flapping inside their car and use his mojo: they would have freaked out, probably crashing somewhere for fear...so he simply let them go. He could take care of that later.

_Humans…._

He didn’t want to tell Dean and Sam either: he got it, he could handle it alone. He must avoid them further concernings...since they could not change what had happened. Maybe he would have asked his father, when he should come back...maybe. But he was sure he could handle it alone. He had killed Michael, so why don’t deal with a simple human problem, after all? WWWD? Easy.

“Jack? you still with us?” Sam was leaning towards him, head slightly tilted to one side, concern spread over his face, while looking straight into his eyes, tired smile on his lips, as to question directly his soul.

 _His soul….what was left of it...what was actually left?_ A sting hit Jack’s guts when thinking about the sad, worried face of his father. He had sensed him while approaching, he thought he would have been proud for his choice to give Felix peace, contentment and rest. Give him an eternity with whom he loved. But he felt his sorrow and concern...for Jack’s deeds, for his deeds. And he just stayed there until he was gone for good, pretending he didn’t see him. Why could not his father understand he was acting for the best?

“Uh, I mean...is there something that’s troubling you, Jack? I don’t know why you were heading here, if you were looking for something...specific...but if you need something, anything, you can tell me, you know that? right?” Sam was speaking softly, his voice hesitating, like he didn’t want to hurt him. So soft, Sam, so caring. Almost like a mother...his smile and gentle movements reminded him of the sweetness in Kelly’s eyes, talking to him, praying for him to be good, to believe in himself.

“Sure Sam, it’s just...I found this book, it talks about ancient cursed object, things you commonly find in everyday life, things you couldn’t discern from anything else….I mean” Jack grabbed at the bear even more tightly, as to take strength from it, voice hurried and taut “if you find a sword, or a odd coloured fluid in a bottle, or a enochian carved box, you know it can be dangerous….but what if the danger is hidden under your very eyes? in something you could just handle for something normal, and then break the spell and freed...well, whatever is inside of it? I mean, what if you just buy this microwave oven and when you put some pizza inside and start the heating, who knows, a brain-eater ghost escapes from it? what if a child gets this balloon and when it pops out, you break some demon sigil?”

He was clutching desperately at the bear now: he himself could feel the sheer desperation in his own voice, and sure as hell Sam would have... _What if, all of a sudden, you find out that your simple loving boykid son of Kelly, is actually a cannibal-angel-eater monster who can turn the Universe to dust? what if I just sneeze and release all Hell’s demons on earth?_

“What if, put it, one day Dean just pull some leverage and Baby turns into a ghoul?”

“Jack, better you don’t say this in front of Dean, dunno how he could take it” Jack could see Sam smiling at the corner of his mouth, head dropped on his chin as surely the thought of Dean chased by ghoul-Baby through the corridors, yelling “ _I won’t hurt her!_ ”, was making room in his head. He grinned nonetheless, then went on, leaning his strong hand on Jack’s left shoulder “ Yeah, anyway I got the point - but I still don’t get what you’re doing here. Are you actually….”

“....checking the items and filing them, to understand what sort of threat they could bear. You too told me that most of the objects from the pawn shop are lethal” Jack tensed at the contact, but didn’t flinch.

“Yes they are. That’s why” and Sam pointed again at the bear still clutched by Jack’s grasp “I wouldn’t pull that cord, not even by chance. We don’t know what would happen, nor the owner knew - and in my world, that’s just enough of a reason NOT TO DO something….”

“But it’s just a ragged, dirty, teddy bear, Sam”

“Jack...you told it yourself. In our world there’s no such thing as “just” something simple and safe. Actually, in our world, most of things are much more than what they seem, and can hold more harm than what they show. That’s why” and he gently started to pull the bear from Jack’s hands “this will be better put back into his shelf, at least until we come up with some more acknowledgement about it”

So saying, Sam clutched the ragged thing himself, as Jack was already letting go of it: the boy had his eyes fixed to his own face, giving him goosebumps for the intensity of their stare, as to glimpse something he wasn’t saying, something that was just inside his heart, his eyes so deep and blue and yet so dark in the dim light around, pools of night...or was just a trick of the light?

“Are _you_ alright, Sam? why is this thing upsetting you?” Jack finally let go of the toy, but somehow couldn’t let go of Sam’s hazed eyes.

 _“Damn... kid, why can’t you just stop pushing? please?”_ but Sam couldn’t voice it out.

“I’m fine, Jack, but I’d rather have this bear back into his place and you out of here, since we wouldn’t want to touch something unhealthy and spread some trouble around. Right?” he tried hard not to falter, swallowing back to smooth his voice before talking again “We could...huh...get back to the library and take out that ledger we took from the pawn shop, and try to track down the origins of all the things filed under “unknown outcome”...what do you think of it? will you help me?” and while delivering the last question, he put on his glaciers-melting, dimpled-graced smile, the one he usually kept for the big deals (along with the puppy-eye gaze), when he really needed to achieve something by _“unconventional means”_. Not fair, but effective, he thought _”The end justifies the means, sometimes….better not to have Jack, or Dean, rummaging here around, making some mess”._

Somehow he made it. Jack sighed and dropped his shoulders, leaning slightly against Sam’s grasp, finally content of the touch and the safety it bore “Alright then, let’s go and find out. I was especially interested in cursed dolls….” his childish eyes now glimmering with curiosity and joy “you know there are at least 12 dolls that actually _are known_ for bearing some sort of spell or curse or sigil, whatever?” Now Jack was giggling with pure joy and excitement, like he was about to start another marvelous adventure, the bear almost forgotten in the back of his mind. Almost.

_Hopefully, he won’t try and come here to play with the damned thing again..._

Sam couldn’t take the risk, anyway: he knew for sure that Jack was different now, and even if he was playing cool with Dean not to arise his concerns and paranoias, he was sure that something unhealthy was growing inside that little shiny head of his: Cas himself had voiced his worries, and Sam was trying to read every glimpse on Jack’s face, something he could read a way Cas could not…

For he knew for sure that bright minds with quick spirit and dangerous overwhelming powers, simply don’t get along very well. With world’s survival, of course.

So he better took the bear somewhere safer, until he was sure that Jack had totally forgotten about his cursed-toys-kink.

“You coming?” Jack was heading to the door, body half turned to the light, so that his face was warmed by the brilliant glow of the lamps in the corridor. His eyes were just as blue and pure as Sam could remember them. _Might’ve been a trick of the mind - I’m just being paranoid, just like Dean. Nothing’s wrong with Jack, he’s just a nice kid. No black eyes, no Lucifer son. No nothing. Just like ever, our sweet angel boy…_

“Go ahead, I have to take some sage powder and rock salt and I’ll be back to the library”

“Gotta make some spell, Sam?” God, he was just such a child! Sam smiled to himself, because Jack was so naive that he could fetch him that good mood even in the most stressful situation. Naive like his father, but lacking that deep, gloomy sorrow that Castiel had to endure since the beginning of their odd friendship: Jack had never had to make the choice, to either choose between Heaven and Earth, humans or angels...he could be both, but he just felt like a super-juiced human. _Or at least I hope so…._

“No, actually, I’ve run out of spices for the beef roast, and Dean would just kill me for having left them at the grocery” Sam smile matched the playful grin on Jack’s face.

“Alright then. Waiting for you to come” and this said, Jack just disappeared in the light.

As soon as his footsteps vanished in the distance, Sam allowed himself to drop his facade. The one he had put on since the very moment he had seen the _thing_ in Jack’s hands.

He leaned back to the wall, smile soon swiped away, and let go of his tension against a roof-high shelf, and the corner of the room, just in case someone should come in and see him there. _Not that my legs would go unnoticed…_ He rested his head against the cold concrete, eyes shut closed, deep grief carved over his features. The thing held tight to his chest, on his grey sweater ( _yeah, nice change for a while, sorry Dean...just can’t always be flannel or death_ ). It was not the bear itself that mattered: if it wasn’t for the owner’s words, he would have thrown it in the deepest of their storage boxes and simply forget it, just in case some worse occurence should come out of it.

It was not the thing.

It was the memory, that made it all so messy difficult.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to fight back tears.

 

**************************************

 

“Now Cas, what exactly makes you failing to understand the meaning of the word _NO_? it’s a very simple word, right? two letters….N like “ _no fucking way_ ” and O like “ _outta your mind right now_ ” and that’s the end of it all!”

 

“Dean, you can’t understand? I HAD TO! I simply couldn’t avoid it, it was my responsibility and mine only, and I had to take care of it, because that’s what humans do, they make mistakes and they fix them, they don’t just wipe out the whole problem with a swipe of hands….I had - “

 

“Stop it! You can’t just do this, it’s NO, now and ever!”

 

Dean’s voice was on the verge of exploding into something near enough to death threaten - or maybe hysterical yelling, he wasn’t sure - to make Jack fasten his steps. Something was hell wrong, for Dean NEVER yelled at Castiel like this, unless….unless he had put himself into something risky and dangerous situation that could possibly get himself killed, cursed or worst.

 

_Maybe Dean has found out about the deal?_

 

Jack paced over even faster, slamming the door open and bursting into the war room, where he realized they had just come into.

 

And they were not alone.

 

And that was the reason for Dean’s concerned anger.

 

Jack almost doubled with laughter.

 

**********************************

 

There was a water drop trickling somewhere in the distance. Like a tear, silently running. Like spilling grace, forever drained.

 

Sam was still in the storage room, and only a few minutes had passed since he and Jack had parted. But it felt like years. Limbs numb, brain shut down. He could only focus on the dripping drop in the distance. Sad like a mournful cry.

 

_You’re a pathetic sentimental, and also a useless disappointment, Sam. You could not save him, you let him go and die in a pointless fight. You knew he wasn’t ready, he was still traumatized, and yet you took him with you, trusting that everybody would come back just fine. But he didn’t. You needed him right? You needed him to do something for you, for Mom and for Jack, as you did before with Jack, for Mom...You are a mess: you need the people you love to stay around, you need help from the people you love, and you get them hurt. You let himself get killed. You knew that feeling, you had wanted that for yourself too. You had seen it in his eyes, and yet you hadn’t stopped him. You deserted him. You’re pathetic and useless. And selfish._

_He needed you, and you let him sacrifice himself._

A sewed muzzle. A sewed mouth.

_Gabriel._

It’s been 6 months, 3 weeks and 2 days.

Since he was gone.

_You should have at least faked your death, as always, you annoying asshole...send a doppelganger through the rift, or against Michael. That would be perfectly you. But the old you, right? You were not that anymore...since when you had come back from Asmodeus. He killed the one you were pretending to be, to cover up you guilt, and sadness, and solitude. You were just trying to build up a new yourself - someone who would have never faked his help, his presence. His death. You should have been back by now. Maybe you are and are having your little time with those hookers...hm, porn stars...maybe?_

But he knew for sure that he hadn’t fake anything, this time. This time had been for real, and there was no coming back. _Great timing Gabriel, for the redemption arc and the good-boy-conversion, just to get yourself killed._

He could just remember that little talk, 6 months, 3 weeks and 3 days before. The day before the rescue of the refugees. The little talk they had in the camp. And it was enough to make him want to sink in a deep, supermassive black hole at the core of his soul, and just stop existing.

And the worst thing? He had never let this facade drop down since then: nothing like the deep widow mourning he had to witness after Castiel’s death, seeing his brother sinking into the abyss and seeking death. He knew that deep pain, the searing grief he had carried for years, actually, after Jess’ death. He knew it and couldn’t support him, but helplessly just existing beside his brother, trying to focus on how to get Mom back, if ever alive she was, to shove that uneasy feeling of not being enough for his brother, of being unable to soothe his grieving. Not able to give him hope, neither.

How mockering from fate: he never thought about this before, but just as Cas had died at the hands of Lucifer, Gabe had died at the hands of Michael, his brother Archangel, from another world. Brothers against brothers.

 

Sam grimly smirked against the darkness. But now Castiel had been brought back to life to Jack’s willing, Lucifer was dead at Michael’s hands, and Michael’s himself had died at Jack’s hands...so maybe, in the end, there could be a chance that there was some sort of cosmic balance, some hope for the circle to close, and maybe, just maybe...Gabe could have been alive, again, by some odd chance? Alive, like Castiel, now that his killer was dead and destroyed?

 

_Quit this shit, Sam, and get up: or Jack will come back looking for you, and we’ll be back to the start again…_

He propped himself standing, slowly sliding his back up the cold walls, eyes still shut slowly blinking open, blurred by the sudden hit of the light. Or were those tears?

 

_It’s your fault. You made a deal, you forced him feeling in debt and guilty. You played on a broken, messy thing just got out of torture and abuse. And you should have known what it feels like. At least Rowena gave him some fun, even if a messed and unhealthy fun. You, on the other way, you forced him to feel like he owed you something. You forced him into your own race, your own quest, and your own war. And that’s the difference between yourself and Dean: he played straight, he was trying to protect Cas till the end, so that you had to shove him through the rift. But you didn’t even try to stand for HIM. Actually, you had to take back Dean, again. Dean, not you. It’s your fault, and ever will be. And now, drag your pitiful, sorry ass outta here and get some dinner done, at least._

 

He smeared that humidity with a single handed wipe, the left one still clutched on the ragged thing as his life depended on it. He fetched the salt and the sage, turned around, and gave a last gaze to the shelves, boxes of unnamed deadly things neatly arranged as to give a semblance of normality to that craziness.

 

He briefly deflected to his room, tossed the bear on the dresser, between the tv screen and the _Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth_ series.

 

He could deal with it later. He surely would….’cause it’d been 6 months, 3 weeks and 2 days he was dealing with his regret and stinging void, never letting it drop out, never spilling all of this shit on anybody else. Because of the refugees, and then of Dean gone all-Michael, and then of caged-Michael, and then….everything else. He was drowning his grief into worn-out work routine, as always.

_Solve issues the Winchesters’ way: pretend they don’t exist, from morning to evening._

 

It was honestly fair that he, who had caused all of this, should swallow it alone. Among with all the other deaths he was responsible of.

 

They were all there - wherever he looked at. They were always there, in a row, haunting him. Staring silently. Accusing him.

 

Jess.

 

Mick.

 

Eileen.

 

Gabriel.

 

Maggie.

 

Everyone he deeply cared for, in some way, was someway dead. Because of some shitty decision he had made. Because he was simply alive, simply existing in this world. He and Dean could have saved the world, but surely they didn’t save _everybody_.

 

He thrust that thought in the back of his mind, shaking his head. He could deal with it later, during the night, as always. Sinking into self-loathing and regret, again. Wishing for a two hours sleep that would only bring worse nightmares, where he didn’t even had the power to stop the visions and the haunting of their faces.

 

But now he was needed in the kitchen, or they would have eaten pineapple pizza and triple layer sandwiches again. Getting a meal done was a very simple, practical task, something scheduled and encoded. Simple instructions to follow, just to obey, and see if the outcome was worthy. No decisions to take, only orders to follow. Maybe he could start to like cooking...He needed to find out if he really could deal with Jody’s instructions and fetch themselves a decent meal, once in a row ( _it’s just a hell about time_ ), and not only when mom was around.

 

_And dad coming back from the past._

 

But he forced back that haunting thought, too.

 

Sam managed to turn away from the sight of the worn out teddy bear on his shelf, shut off the light and closed the door, aiming for the kitchen. It would have been a hell of a mess, to get something done this evening.

 

Except that he still didn’t know _how much_.

 

**********************************

 

Something wasn’t right, in the war room.

 

_They’re yelling. Whatthehell?!_

 

Sam quickened his pace, not for the yelling. It was definitely something else, something he did recognize quite fairly. It was the sound of….

 

“A dog?!” Sam couldn’t really believe what his eyes were seeing right there, and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to just facepalm the whole thing or just burst out in laughter. He just stood there, jaw dropped open and wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

 

Jack was sitting on the war table, cross-legged and face enlightened with joy, making stupid noises through meaningless phrases, a medium sized, a jumping, happy furred thing in his lap. It was some sort of unnamed, mixed breed dog, wavy, thick sand-coloured fur on the back, head and tail, creamy white on the curly belly and long legs, and the big pawns, one ear folded down over itself, the other straight upright to drink every squeaky noise that Jack was emitting. It should have been _damn soft_ , if Jack was just petting it like it was the last thing he was doing before dying.

 

“Alright Sam, now just close your pretty pink mouth and go get here and tell Cas and Jack WE CAN’T KEEP A DOG IN THE BUNKER!” Dean’s voice was oozing indignation, and a hint of fear too. Fear that his brother could actually side with _the enemy_. On the table was leaning a gun, meaning Dean’s gun, which he had probably brought with himself waiting for a fight to come - _or had he been ready to shoot the dog??_

 

Sam just deflected his gaze from Jack and the dog, to a mortified yet stiffed Cas, to his…. _insulted_ brother? Was _really_ Dean asking him to talk against both Cas and Jack to persuade them against keeping a dog?? _A DOG??_

_Jeez Dean, have you met me?! like, I mean, it’s about six years that I keep telling you we should get a dog...no way I can help you!_

“Sorry bro, war is war…” and he shook his head in disbelief at his brother’s gullibility, half smirking and heart pulsing joy at every beat.

_Yay! Done! We made it….three against one, now take it, you outnumbered moron!_

 

“Dude! You’re my brother! My own blood!! can’t believe you’re choosing that hairy, dirty, germs-bearing thing over your brother!” Dean was probably on the verge of a nervous breakdown, hands convulsively passing through his short hair, taut face and tight lips, glaring eyes widened in horror, as Jack was now letting that thing licking his face. Over the war table. Where he just eat ( _ok, he shouldn’t do that in the first place but hey, he was human AND he was Dean, and he could eat on the war table, while the thing could simply NOT exist, NOT breath, surely NOT LICK ANYBODY’S FACE, nevermind even STAY over there_ ).

 

“Dean, we talked about this. We are family, and we just decide things together, no more one-hand shitty decision...we….” Sam tried to break through his brother’s raving distress, with poor results. Dean was still furiously pacing back and forth, twisting his hands on his head, like he was preventing it to explode.

 

“Yeah sure, ‘cause even better are shared shitty decisions, right?” the mockering tone in Dean’s voice barely covering his frustration “ _HE BROUGHT A FUCKING D.O.G. IN THE BUNKER!_ ” Dean yelled - or, better, shrieked.

 

As an answer, the dog happily barked. Like this was actually the most funny, interesting, amusing event ever occurred in its life.

 

“You don’t talk, you don’t speak, you are not allowed to have a word in all of this - actually, you now just stop breathing and…”  


“Dean” Cas had come closer to Dean, unnoticed, and had just put his hand on his arm: a gentle touch to reach through his brother’s anger, his low voice reaching through the thick air, gently resting around like an early summer breeze, warm and soft and caring, trying to ease Dean’s distress with that soft mildness that was part of him like his own grace. _Like grace made voice, actually_ , Sam though in awe, as the sheer force of that voice and the firm touch on him, simply made it to Dean’s anger and immediately soothed agony and frustration away.

 

Just a word, just a touch, and Dean had gone in his _I-am-listening-to-you-but-you-better-persuade-me-or-this-will-gonna-end-very-bad-very-soon_ mode.

 

“Cas, dude, how did you happen to bring that dog here?” Sam wasn’t actually thinking of whether keeping the dog or not, cause it was going to stay, period: but it was out of simple and greedy curiosity that he wanted to know how and Angel of the Lord had adopted a stray dog... _like he just adopted us two ten years ago_ , Sam figured with a sting at his heart.

Had they been just two stray dogs  to him, needing guidance, and help, at that time? were they just a fond company?

 

“Sam, I don’t know...I was scouting around the bunker. I definitely had sensed a lingering….something…”

 

“Demons? Angels? Something?” Jack had redirected his attention from the happy, licking, pawning thing in his lap, to his dad’s worried frown. The dog whimpered to get attentions again, collecting a scolding gaze from Dean, still hurt and astonished by his brother’s and Cas’ betrayal.

 

“It’s been a while since I had sensed here around something so powerful to even trespass the Bunker’s sigils. It could not come in, of course, but it was perceivable, and this is not good. I could not tell if it was good or evil, either. So I went - “ Cas’ voice was interrupted by a loud snort.

 

“You went out to get yourself killed by a monster, and actually came back in with a monster. Awesome. Great” Dean was now whimpering, so fully aware he had been outnumbered that he was now playing the ” _you-can’t-really-do-this-to-me-voice”_ card.

 

“Dean! I said...I was not sure what it was, good or evil, and that was the reason why I went out. Because _I DIDN'T KNOW!_ ”

 

Was Cas really eyerolling? Was that an eyeroll? Sure. He was definitely eyerolling Dean, Sam thought with a grin. _How cute..._

 

That was gonna be a lot of fun….

 

“So, Cas….anything found? did you trace the source of the power?”

 

“No Sam...I couldn’t. It just disappeared as it had come, in a burst. Actually” and he turned to face the scene of the licking thing again working at every single minuscule clean spot on Jack’s face, to cover it in spittle, the corner of his mouth only slightly twisting in a hint of a smile, trying not to get himself caught by the mourning Dean on his side, still hand in hair “I turned to face the source of the burst behind my back, and I almost killed that dog. I healed it, of course, but I couldn’t leave it in the woods, you know…”  
  
“No I really don’t know Cas, why could you not leave it in the woods? I mean, it’s an animal, animals are wild and free, they….hunt…. _things_...in the woods...the circle of life you know…” Dean was pacing furiously, hands wavering around to enforce every word.

 

Cas definitely eyerolled at this words. _Cute…._

 

“A dog is not a wild animal, Dean. This is a domestic pet. She lives in houses with people, sleeps on their beds, plays - “ Jack’s matter-of-fact explanation was interrupted by a hissing noise.

 

Horror. Pure horror over Dean’s features “ _SLEEP ON BEDS???_ ”

 

That’s when Sam lost it, and just doubled over in laughter, tears almost coming out at the corner of his eyes “Dean, you know this is all ridiculous, ya know?” Sam was trying to mutter the words between the sighs and gulps of the laughters “Don’t worry, _she_ \- ‘cause I assume that Jack has already checked and we’re talking about a sweet lady here - won’t dare to come near you precious bed. She’ll sleep with me or Jack. Not Cas, I assume, since he doesn’t….sleep…?” tentatively side eyeing Cas.

 

Dean was now in the middle of a gazing contest. Everybody looking at him, at his ridiculous whinings, and he could only go back and forth everybody’s stare, trying to decide whom to kill first.

 

_The dog, definitely the dog._

 

“So we’re not even talking about it? no decision? no votations? not even fake-votations?” Dean tried hopefully. Sam’s bitchface, immediately followed by Cas’, and Jack’s useless squeaks matching the dog’s whines, told him he had lost battle, war, field, honour, and everything. He raised his hands in defeat.

 

“I surrender. But” and his voice lowered, dark and groaning and menacing “the thing won’t come near my room, my room is out, locked, gone, byebye, sayonara...and _*I*_ won’t come into your” and so saying he pointed an offended forefinger towards his grinning brother “and your” and the named forefinger moved to point a oblivious Jack, who wasn’t paying attention to Dean since the bed naming accident “rooms anymore. And even if I’ll come in, I won’t sit on the bed, or anything else where the thing could have rested his befouled body! And this thing will stay away from the couch, from the war table, from the kitchen...yes definitely from the kitchen...and from the storage room, and the archive, and from the bathroom, and also from the library, and no way, I mean...NO WAY...it can come inside my Dean cave, capisce?!?”

 

“Yeah, sure...deal...name me some place where _she_ can walk in?” Dean obviously didn’t bother to catch the poignancy in Sam’s retort.

 

Dean seemed to ponder the answer before letting it out “The dungeon” he nodded to himself “It can stays in the dungeon. Devil’s trap, you know” and he walked towards the kitchen, outrage pouring from his whole swaying body as he stepped away.

 

Sam rolled his eyes, soon followed by Castiel.

 

The dog barked, ‘cause this was all very funny.

 

********************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so....I had this thing laying there in my folder. It had to be something else, but actually I needed a bridge between Gabriel's arc, and the next episode. So I decided to split the interlude from the story, and have two distinct chapters on their own. As you probably noticed, this is quite longer than the previous ones, so I assume the next ones will be too. Oh yes, and as always, title, quote and ambience are actually inspired by some songs, and books, I'm actually dealing with.  
> And as always, comments and suggestions are all welcomed :)


	6. "Three Wise Monkeys, Three Wise Men"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Castiel makes a creepy discover, Jack makes a mess and someone else makes the hell of a difference for the future.

 

*******************************************

_Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster…_

_For when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you._

 

*******************************************

_Kalateh-ye Shir, South Khorasan, Iran - A.D. 79_

_Tower of Aatar-vahsya, Council of the Pirramasda_

 

“Brethren of mine. May my esteem and gratitude follow your pathway and enlighten your souls. I gathered you among these ancient walls of ours, in the last dwelling of our mutual forefather, to bring you tidings of sorrow and dismay”.

The woman in charge as Chief of the Council was old and stern: her heavy words were piercing the silence through the dim lit hall, sound and severe, no hint of faltering in her voice.

Dark and dry was her skin, despite her age, glaring by the wrinkles on her hands and face, the only parts of her body not covered by the solemn vest her rank required. Long sleeved tunic, shawl and veil made of pure white silk and wool, embedded in silver and gold on the rims of the fabric, seemingly simple vines and threads which actually bore inside the magic of the ancient language of the sacred wisdom. Her gray hair, streaked in dark threads, were kept tight to her head by thick, interwoven braids, fastened by silver pins.

She was wearing only a long necklace carved out in bones and stones, encased in gold, showing a spread-winged eagle, and, on her left hand, she carried a huge ruby ring, clutched by an exquisitely wrought gold dragon biting his tail.

Men and women of different ages and wealth were crowded around the table, in the round, snug stone room, their clothes witnessing the different stages of wisdom and knowledge they had achieved during their training and studies: white was the colour worn by the Bearers of Wisdom, at the crown of the hierarchy, blue and purple the colours worn by the Wise Lecturers, and various shades of crimson, russet, copper and auburn for the Young Sages.

Their faces were sullen and gloomy, eyes focused on the woman they called their Holy Mother. No one was speaking, almost not even breathing. But even if they were not so intent on the speech, they could have never seen the bright, gold, tiny figure wandering around the ancient stone walls, folded in the pleats of a parallel reality, still there and in the present moment, and yet not totally real. Gabriel had heard the summoning spell cast from the Holy Mother, and sensing the urgency and the terror in her voice, knowing that his most devoted congregant would have never perturbed the Almighty Gabriel for some jots, he had flown to the Tower in a beat of wings, carving himself out of the woods engulfing the Walhalla Halls and silently taking part, unseen, to the Council.

He didn’t want to meddle, it was not his task anymore: ha had made his best to warn the young Israeli girl about the omen hanging on her, almost being caught by Michael in the effort.

 _Damn Pops_ , he snapped.

He couldn’t afford himself to take any risk anymore: so he was just watching, wondering if simply vanishing and taking no care of the foreseen, or waiting a little more, and maybe trying to come up with some witty solution not involving his entanglement in all the havoc made up by his bickering brothers.

“ _Gabriel the Archangel’s epoch is over and done, since a very long time ago_ ”, he thought, pacing to the window, still in awe for the beauty of this wide corner of the world, wild and untamed, hiding such a powerful coven of wisdom among the ancient rocky mountains, and the vast plains of sand and nothing.

His invisible vessel turned to face the woman in white, who had started again her heartfelt oration “Brothers and sisters of mine. Many of you know that our commitment in this world is to delve into the awe of the Creations, following the Wisdom and the Knowledge, seeking the Truth and spreading the Enlightenment of our brethren, aiming to the improvement of our powers and sleights, to always honour the Name of the Almighty”.

Gabriel yawned and rolled his eyes. He had heard that part at least a billion times, and he just wanted to get straight to the point.

“Three of our most hallowed Wise Men, among the chosen ones who had the honour of joining the cortege crossing the deserts and the mountains many decades ago, to follow the Holy Star and find the place of birth of the Almighty, have strained from the wisdom and are now wandering a dark path. A hollow path of death and darkness. They are wielding the Magic and the Knowledge to honour the Enemy, the Beast, the Dragon, and are spreading words of war and hatred among the folks. They have twisted the Power we hold and nurture to fight the Evil, to nourish and enhance it. We must find a way to stop them, or the end of us all will advent fast and inescapable”.

Thus said, she dropped her head on her chest, and fell silent. Nobody spoke.

Gabriel’s face was pale gold against the sun setting over the sandy plains, his golden eyes hazed and sorrowful. He had heard voices, rumours. About those three honoured sages, tirelessly digging into lore and magic to find a way to end the Evil forever. Too deeply swamped into magic, to actually realize how far they had gone. This...this he could not afford to let be. The power and knowledge he had spread to fight the monsters created in the depths of Hell...the power given to those he cherished as children of his own wisdom and wit, to overcome their weakness...twisted and corrupted to increase one side’s chances.

Yet, he could not come out of his witness protection and face the threat himself: he had made a promise to Loki, to get this whole new body and identity. He had to stay out of his family business.

But there was something he could do: and doing this, she would have known for sure what enchantment he was exactly asking her to perform. So he turned around, and aimed to her apartments, leaving the Council to face its failure. He pushed aside the bed curtains, and leaned on her bed three vials, pale crystal ampoules topped by plugs encrusted in gold and sapphires, filled with silver-blue, shining Grace. Archangel Grace. _His own Grace._

_Three vials for three Wise Men. Three vials for three saviours turned into monsters. I hope you will put them into use, my beloved child._

A soft rustle and the room was void.

Far away, across the deserts and the seas, in a distant land, a fire mountain started to rumble and awake.

*******************************************

The beef was actually excellent. Unfortunately, due to the lil’ Lady accident (because Jack simply stuck for the dog being a lady and consequently stated that naming her “Lady” was sheer logic), nobody in the bunker enjoyed it, to Sam’s greatest distress. The only exception made by Cas, who couldn’t really enjoy it anyway, being an Angel…Lady or not.

Dean played his last card by suggesting that the “thing” could actually belong to someone in Lebanon, and had just run away for some reason, leaving some young, innocent, grieving kid in tears for the loss of their beloved dog. Sam thought it was unconventionally smart for his brother to point out such an obvious remark, if it hadn’t been for Castiel.

“She’s not” everybody seemingly agreed they should go for the _she_ instead of the _it._

“Oh nice, sure, and may I ask you if you took the trouble to go down and ask?” Dean was behaving like a real asshat, his voice exuding contempt and annoyance, Sam thought barely restraining his displeasure, and tightened his lips. Sure Cas was an angel, not snapping at such a douchebag remark: _if Cas says something, it’s because he knows, you jerk. And maybe you could take notice he could actually smite you here and now…_

“No, actually not. I didn’t need to” Cas was still questioning his meal for an answer about molecular combination of meat, and spices, and heat, slowly torturing the beef morsel with the fork’s tip to get the truth out, and wasn’t really paying attention to Dean’s annoyed question.

“....Cas?”

“Yes? Dean?” blue eyes transfixing green ones, pure and unaware “What’s wrong?”

“Wha-” Dean snapped, turning his face quickly to a side and throwing the towel on the table, then returning to face Cas and his eyes, hands interlaced under his chin, gazing dark across the room “Apart from a goddammit dog in our house, you mean!?”

“Dean, language. Please don’t take my father into our familiar disagreement” Cas’ seriousness could be fake, but it was certainly amusing, and if it was a joke to annoy Dean, it was effective, Sam grinned.

“So, the dog doesn’t belong to anybody in the town, apparently” Dean cut out “how do you know for sure?”

“I asked” Cas matter-of-factly remarked.

“So you went to the city!” Dean snapped, exasperated.

“No, as I said I didn’t need to…” maybe Cas had caught Dean’s exasperation from the wince on his face, head slightly retreating while pressing lips together as to suppress another snappy comment, because he hurried to keep going “I just asked her”.

Silence fell, apart from Jack’s giggling and Lady’s whimpering in the background.

“....you asked….”

“Yes”

“....her”

“Yes” Cas was about to roll his eyes, but for family’s sake he was restraining himself.

“And she told you she doesn’t belong to anybody?”

“Yes”

Silence could be the next best dessert, since it was so thick that Sam could actually cut and taste it. He was waiting for Dean to rise and shout, about the silliness of the whole situation. And so he did.

 _“....and what if she lied?!_ ”

*******************************************

Sam insisted for washing the dishes with Dean: after a ten minutes of the old couple’s bickering about keeping the dog, when all of the two were perfectly aware that Sam and Jack had already decided and nobody could change that, being Jack stronger and Sam taller, he simply wanted to plead for divorce from those two, or at least to stop their quarrelling by physically parting them.

He sent Cast to the library to see if he could find some hint about that ratty bear in the lore, while checking again on the ledger if something was listed about it. He was still uncomfortable with the whole situation Jack had revived, and the sooner he could find the answer and just bury it under a ton’s stuff in the warehouse, the better he could feel.

He aimed for the sink, where a really fed-up Dean was already soaping and washing dishes and pots and pans, trying to make them pay for all was going on since two hours before.

 _We’ll have to get some other dishes...luckily they weren’t even matching,_ Sam sorely thought after the second crashing on the sink shelf. He fetched a cloth and walked towards his brother, trying a soft approach as to avoid the third crash. Which actually landed quite near his feet.

Sam lowered his eyes to the wet mess on the ground, grimacing to the splinters and the water polls. When he lifted his gaze, Dean was staring at him, pouting and gloomy, as to defy some sort of a reaction to get started again.

 _Sorry, not my game, baby bro...not this evening, I’m already waiting for my nightmares’ daily dose_ , and he headed to the closet to fetch a broom and a mop, followed by the disappointed gaze leaning on Dean’s face.

“So you think we should keep it? Seriously?”

Seemingly, Dean had lowered his tone, realizing that Sam would have never jumped into an argument. Not this evening. His brother was quite…. _aloof_...despite the first cheerfulness for the new entree.

“Dean, have you seen Jack’s eyes? I mean, apart for my love for dogs...don’t you think that the kid should have some sort of interaction? Yes, I know, apart from us three I mean” Sam hurried to add, taking notice of his brother’s attempt to defy the statement “We’re his family, sure, but we can’t give him the fondness and affection he could get from...you know, a mother, or a sibling of his own age. I mean…” Sam’s voice was low and slow, almost rolling on the words, eyes deeply intent on the task of fetching even the smallest splinter, to avoid any hurt to the dog’s pawns “as kids we had each other” his smile was sad, and sweet, remembering something that just seemed perfectly fitting the situation “Dad was not the best company, if you get what I mean”.

“Yep, I got it” Dean’s face was tense, but at least he was now leaning the dishes and pots with care, not punishing them anymore.

“So, don’t you think it could be good for him to have someone to care for, after he freed the snake?” Jack had told them he had freed Felix to give it serenity, when a scared ( _not scared, worried_ , as he specified) Dean came running over the war room yelling that Felix was missing from his cage - which actually led to the question about _what_ he was doing in Jack’s room, if not keeping an eye on the dammit snake itself...but Jack seemed not worried at all. “Or would you prefer me to fetch him another snake?” Sam tentatively pouted, while hardly suppressing a smug.

“NO!” Dean hissed “the dog is just….ok….if we really...I mean, if _Jack_ really needs a pet…”

“I don’t think he _needs_ it, or at least not consciously, but it’s good for him to be distracted from his undergoing situation” Sam’s smile was vanquished by a sudden seriousness.

“Huh? what situation?” Dean asked.

_God...he can be so dense..._

“Dean...you talked to him, right? you talked to Donatello” Sam had stopped moping the pavement, and was full height standing, staring at Dean, a hands holding the dustpan filled in shards and splinters.

“Right, and he said Jack is ok, we just” and he waved something with soaped hands “have to keep an eye on him. But he’s fine, I mean, apart for the phenomenal cosmic powers in an itty bitty living space. We just have to make sure he doesn’t get to sneeze and kill something…” and so saying, he cut the topic, turning again to the water, to finish his task.

“So you think he’s fine? He really is? No dark effects from burning his soul, or cannibalizing his uncle from another reality? When he ate uncle Gabe’s Grace….he almost … _died_ ” Sam questioned, leaning forward, raising his eyebrows and trying a tired smile.

“Sam” Dean stared back, lips thin and tensed, his voice quietly humming “Donny said to keep an eye on him, and we’re doing that. We just have to wait and see. After all, who could know what’s inside his head? Maybe” and he turned back again to wring the sponge and dry his hands “Lucifer was right: only an almighty freakin’ archangel could understand such a being like Jack, not even Cas can. And this is making him writhe in guilt and worry”.

“Yeah, not only him” Sam said, quitting the talk.

Nobody talked anymore.

*******************************************

“I’m going to my room with Lady” Jack was beaming with joy, while stopping in front of his dad and waiting for any response to the announcement “Do you think Sam would mind if I keep her with me for the night?”

Cas raised his eyes from the four books and the ledger haphazardly opened on the table before him, and gazed back at his son: bright eyes and pure, lovely smile. _Nothing is wrong, Castiel, nothing is wrong with him...he just needs some time to understand what’s going on inside of him, he just has to cope with that alien grace burning inside of him…_

Lady was leaping at Jack’s back like a koala, trying to get some attention. Castiel couldn’t help but smile at the little sketch of Jack dragged almost to the ground by 50 pounds of hair and tongue, complaining and scolding her, while madly giggling.

“I don’t think he would mind, anyway he asked me for some researches, so I guess it will take us a long part of the night, to find what he’s looking for. Don’t mind about it, I’ll tell him” and he attempted a warming smile, straightaway followed by Jack’s.

“Then I’ll go watching _Mortal Engines_ , since the books were so good and Sam told me to see if I can find what alterations they made in the movie adaptation and which one I prefer the most” Jack ended, while stepping towards the hall and raising the only free hand (the other one currently borrowed by Lady’s teeth, who was dragging him along) as a greeting.

“Good” Castiel muttered in a smile, not understanding a single word.

*******************************************

Jack couldn’t decide if Lady was more annoying or cute, but the most important thing was that she was just enjoying the company, without asking stupid questions, without worrying, without spying every little inch of his features, totally failing in the goal of going unnoticed.

“We’ll have a great evening, just me and you, cuddled on the bed, watching some movie and reading some books, just for fun” .

Lady barked happily, as an agreement.

Jack had barely put his hand on the doorknob, when it flashed him that Sam still had the books in his room: he had offered them back to Jack, but he was totally absorbed in his research about the cursed dolls, and had just forgotten about it. _Nevermind_ , Sam’s room was right beside his own, and he would have not minded if he stepped some seconds to fetch them and come out. Anyway, he would have never know, ‘cause there was no real reason to tell him.

He spinned back to Sam’s door, grabbed and turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, turning the light on. He quickly scouted the room and found out the books on the shelf near the bed headboard. He was just about to turn and go out, when he saw it: the teddy bear. Next to the tv screen and the other books, just in front of Sam’s bed.

He stared intensely at it.

_So Sam didn’t trust me? He didn’t leave it in the storage room, he thought it was better kept in his own room than over there, where I could eventually find it and take it?_

 A flow of... _displeasure?....irritation?....anger?..._ flew through his veins and muscles, tensing him like a string ready to be played. But the tune was something he didn’t like at all.

_He didn’t trust me? Why? He said he cared for me, he said I deserved the truth, and yet again, they lied. They lied to me, as they keep lying to each other. Why?_

He clenched his fists, trembling, and walked toward the bear. He grabbed it badly, almost making the books collapse on the floor, stopping them just in time. But in the effort, he hit the desk chair with his knee.

“Ouch!” Lady was immediately at his side, no more jumping and barking, her soft hazel eyes staring worriedly at his new soulmate as to check if he was alright. Jack headed half-bent to the bed, massaging his hurt knee, the bear still firmly clutched in his hand. “I can’t use my powers without permission, not even to heal a knee, Lady” he said, sitting on the sheets.

_They lied to you. They all lie. They don’t trust you anymore...always watching, always inquiring, always lurking. They don’t trust you, they’re scared, because you’re the most powerful being in this and all the Universes ever made...You think that they care about you, that they love you? You're a job. A burden. A problem. Family? It’s nothing. Family begins and ends with betrayal, humans are like that, from the very beginning: first they betrayed God’s trust, then each others’..._

“Stop it! It’s nothing like this!” Jack clutched his head in pain, shutting his eyes closed and trying to avoid those haunting thoughts, miserably failing.

_Do you know anything about God, and his sister? Do you know how he came into existence, how they came into existence? Have you ever asked yourself why, if there are probably thousands of universes, and gods, and angels, and demons, and humans, all the same, living their different lives, acting their different scripts, ending all the same…why are there only one God and one Amara? Before creation there was Darkness and God said let there be Light, and there was..._

“Stop it!!” His head was pulsing heavily, painfully, like something alive inside wanted to escape, to run, breaching through his very temples to jump outside. He couldn’t understand the thoughts’ flowing, nor the reason for them to come to surface right now. Something was definitely wrong inside of him. And he couldn’t tell anyone, because they couldn’t understand him, they couldn’t reach him. They could do nothing.

**That’s quite not true. Actually, there’s something they could do….but they just cannot, if you first don’t start being honest, and talk to them, and all the rest of the happy family bullshit. They’re not here, inside your head, and they don’t see what you see, they don’t feel what you feel. They don’t know what you know. And right now I’m a tad busy with other important family business to deal with, so please...why won’t you be a nice boy and go tell ‘em that something is awfully wrong?**

“They would hate me. If they knew what I did...they would hate me. They would look at me like the day I was born. They would not understand, they would judge me, and overlook me. I did nothing wrong, it’s not my fault...but it’s easier to put the wrong on me! I’m simply too much for them to understand, and they are scared!”

_THAT. Now you got it right. They don’t love you. They’re nothing. They don’t care. They don’t trust you._

**You got it definitely NOT right, believe me.... They love you. They’re family. And family cares. Trust them.**

“They don’t trust me!” Jack yelled, throwing the bear across the room, watching it thumping on the wall, slowly sagging onto itself in a messed bunch of old, ratted chenille, and squashy limbs. Anyway, Jack caught something: while hitting the wall, he had heard it delivering a noise, something quite different from the normal thudding made by a bunch of stuffed fabric. It was like a crinkling, a crumpling rolling, muffled by fabric.

He slowly got up, aiming for the toy, he collected it carefully, turning it around and upside down, shaking it slightly, then heavier and heavier. It ticked. Something ticked.

He stared at it, gazing through a blank stare.

_What a funny thing, indeed. Why don’t you try and find out?_

**And what about NO!?!**

Jack shrugged. Lady seemed nowhere in sight. Stupid dog…

He stared again. Then pulled the cord.

*******************************************

 

_You know this is gonna ending real bad, right?_

  
**_….fuck…_ **

  
_Nice suggestion. Anyway I can’t anymore, sad, too sad…._

  
**_Let me mourn a bit over you then - ok, done. Now watcha gonna do about it?_ **

 

_Me? nothing. Thank you but it’s not something I have to deal with, anymore….your burden, your regard_

  
**_You KNOW I can’t, right now...I’m too weak. I have to finish this trial, and then I’ll be able to break down it all and flee in aid._ _But it could be too late_ **

  
_It would, actually._

  
**_I CAN’T GO! I’m just trying to cling to that skimpy fragment of mine he luckily sucked up, and chain him to me….but it’s not working, thank to your br-_ **

  
_Sure, of course, always claiming for someone else’s faults? Why can’t you just learn your lesson and take a decision, and suck it up, facing the consequences? Did you awake me for THIS? To whine and whimper and snivel and sniffle? I want to sleep, so thank you for the family group therapy, but I’m gonna get to sleep again…_

  
**_Wait! I can’t do this alone, I need…_ **

  
_Ask someone else. I did my best, I’m done. Ask someone else. I don’t care._ _There’s plenty of people here, just ask. ‘Night._

  
**_I don’t want to ask them, they must sleep. If I wake them up, it would be my end...I can’t face them all, I can’t. I don’t know how you kept this up..._ **

  
_I said, bye._

  
**_WAIT!! Come back, please! I need your help...Jack needs your, our help...please...where have you gone...hey???_ **

 

*******************************************

“I’m going to my room, Cas” if he hadn’t been an angel, Sam’s sudden voice would have made him startle.

“Nice to know, it seems that tonight everybody needs to inform me about their evening tasks…”

“....Cas? what the h-”

“Nothing” Cas waved a hand in front of himself, as to swipe away a nasty bug “Jack already went in his room. He took Lady with him, he hopes you don’t mind he dragged her all for himself”.

“What? No, sure not, I mean” Sam smiled a shy smirk, while plunging on the chair across the table, facing him “I’m just glad he feels better, and if the dog can help him, I’m more than glad”.

“And what about…” Cas gestured with a tilt of the head towards the kitchen.

“Dean? He’ll survive. I mean...I hope” Sam chuckled, shaking his head “What about you? Got something interesting? Do we know something about that toy, or nothing?” so saying, he picked one of the lore books that Castiel had just flipped upside down, probably in an (un)usual burst of dissatisfaction, trying to dig through whatever he was looking for.

“ _Japanese Lore and Symbols_ ”.

“Hm, I don’t really know. You know about this story? The motto? _‘See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil’_. It seems it comes from very afar, from Japan actually….There are these “ _Three Mystic Apes_ ” who are considered as the attendants of “ _Saruta Hito no Mikoto, the God of the Roads_ ”. A minor god, actually” Castiel pointed out, like he wanted to make it clear that he was deeply bothered by all this “pagan gods” pantheons meddling around. The way Castiel was mimicking air quotes for all the reported words was something between the funny and the cute, Sam couldn't decide. So he simply stayed there, legs long spread under the table, arms crossed, waiting for Cas to finish his tale.

“During the Koshin festival, which is held on the 60th day of the Japanese calendar, it is told, according to the lore, that a person’s bad deeds might be reported to heaven “ _unless avoidance actions were taken_ ”. This book theorizes that the three Mystic Apes, Not Seeing, Not Hearing, Not Speaking, may have been the “ _things that one has done wrong in the last 59 days_ ”. On other accounts, anyway, the monkeys caused the “Sanshi”, which actually are the [Three ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_Corpses)Demons living in everyone’s body, not to see, say or hear the bad deeds of a person. This Sanshi keep track of the good deeds and particularly the bad deeds of the person they inhabit. Every 60 days, during a particular night, if the person sleeps, the Sanshi will leave the body and go to the Heavenly God, to report about the bad deeds of that person, so that he will then decide to punish bad people, making them ill, shortening their time alive, and in extreme cases putting an end to their lives.”

While listening to Castiel’s tale, Sam’s smile was slowly darkening. This sounded something he actually had experienced. Some malevolent _God_ digging for bad deeds, and setting punishments for those who deserved it….Sam gulped, his throat suddenly withered.

“So...these Sanshi….they are sort of...gods?” Sam finally managed to ask, his voice eerily distant.

*******************************************

Nothing happened. Jack felt disappointed, and tried to pull further the cord, to see if maybe it was stuck or something. Again, nothing happened, the cord simply hanging down the bear's back, lifeless and useless. But he could actually _sense_ something: the toy was faintly trembling, like there was some sort of odd mechanism kept stuck by….

 _By the stitches,_ it suddenly beamed to Jack.

These old teddy bears from the past century used to have an inside device intended to make the toy speak, or voicing some sounds, when a cord was pulled. If so, the sewn muzzle was maybe preventing it from talking, sticking the device or something...once removed the stitches, the bear could actually work. Jack was wondering….should he try to remove them?

_Why don't you free him? Like Felix?_

**And what about you DON'T mess with the damn thing?! If Sam took it…**

_...it's because he wants it all for himself. Why does it have to be his? You saw it first…_

**...and thank you but now you can put it back and walketh to your room, and stop this all.**

Jack was still. He could hear some muffled music in the distance. Some voices. His family. _Oh, are they?_

He glimpsed the emergency kit laying beside Sam’s bed, on his bedside table. Emergency kit. _Scalpel._

Jack mechanically moved to the bedside, and fetched the kit, opening it and immediately spotting the scalpel. Taking place on the hem of the bed, he set the bear firmly on his lap, its head clasped between his knees. He took a deep breath, fingers frantically tightening the grip on the tool, still mid air.

_Jack…._

**Jack!**

“He didn’t trust me…” Jack pouted, frowning. Why should I do what he told me to do, if I can’t trust him to trust me?

He dug the scalpel and carefully started to cut the stitches away.

*******************************************

“No, not gods” Castiel shook his head, digging further into the pages “The sanshi are sort of demonic creatures. Demons. Who wants the bad of the people they inhabit. And the monkeys stop them”.

“And what does this all deal with our bear, Cas?”

“Well, I was wondering that too...when suddenly a thing came to my mind, maybe it’s nothing” he placed the book back on the wood desk, and entwined his fingers over it “but I was wondering if that teddy bear had his muzzle sewn shut for a reason...you know...what if he _should not speak evil_ …?”

Sam was now leaning forward, enticed by Cas’ story, and he too was starting to smell the catch, ending Castiel’s explanation “...so you say, what if actually this toy was just _one out of three_? what if we could have other two toys out there, with - who knows - one with sewn, stitched eyes, and one with folded and sewn ears? like...they _should not see evil, should not ear evil_? To avoid something bad?”

“Correct. And actually -” and while saying this, he pulled out from under a pile of books the ledger from the pawn shop “our dearest thief recorded having... _bought_ ” and he emphasized the word with a dark, despising gaze over the book, like he wanted to incinerate it “three teddy bears: one with sewn muzzle, one with stitched eyes, one with sewn ears. All together. Unfortunately, the other two seemingly have been sold already. Buyer not recorded, sadly” and he handed the ledger over Sam.

Sam traced the marks Cas had put into the pages. He was right. There had been three connected items - and not only for the sewn thing...Under the filing record, the description and prescription was always similar, if not the same.

_SEALED MOUTH/EARS/EYES._

_CONCEALED VIAL._

_DO NOT EXPOSE TO LIGHT._

He couldn’t help smiling at seeing the items next to those, some of which surely would have caught Jack’s attention: a cursed doll, “Kate Doll”, bringing curse for the whole family ( _good thing we have hex bag all around the bunker to avoid curses and such_ ), and another unnamed “Cursed Doll” of the Victorian Era, from H.H. Heinz Estate, effects unknown.

Anyway, the lead was right there: and it made sense. Now the question was: if each of them had a vial concealed in the inside, maybe to protect ‘em from bumps and crashes, and these vials had to be kept away from light, what the hell were those vials for?

He was about to voice out the question to Cas, when they heard the blast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...actually I had some fun writing this, hope you'll like it :) next one I think I'll untie the catches....


	7. "The force of fallen light"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I feel more guilty than I already feel? Can I miss his presence more than I already do? I made a worse mess than Jack….worse…if he was here now, we could...

 

*******************************************

_The force of fallen light_

_This sent and flamed too bright._

_A lost and fallen race._

_The sight turned from grace._

_The war proceeds the rest._

_The sign of the dancing dead._

_And time squared to lapse._

_And forgets when time began._

_The world must come to an end_

_The dark of space will bend._ __

*******************************************

Jack had already freed the muzzle from the stitches, and was handling the bear turning it upside down, to see what was next - and yet nothing special was happening, when he _felt_ that strange pulse inside the bear, a trembling tickle quickly becoming a wide tremor, until everything in the room went black and icy hot, and he was suddenly thrown across the room by the bolt.

He dropped the bear and tried to cover his head from the blow, when he hit the wall.

He had just started to roll over and push himself up on his elbows, when he heard the harsh slamming of the door against the desk, and Sam’s hoarse voice screaming “JACK!!!”

“Are you ok, Jack? what happened?” Cas was with him, he could hear his voice too, even if he was still…

“Cas, I can’t see anything!” Jack started panicking: even if he tried to reach out for the humming grace inside his being, he couldn’t mend his sight, and this was turning his whole world into a big mess.

“Jack, cool down. Maybe it’s just a side-effect of the blast. What the hell happened?” He could sense the touch of Sam’s wide, callous hands on his wrists and forearms, helping him sitting, then another pair of hands ( _Cas…._ ) lifted him from under his armpits and put him steady on his feet.

“I - I….made a mess, I think…” Jack’s voice was feeble and trembling, his whole body shaking.

Fear.

Terror.

Guilt.

_What have I done….?_

“We heard an explosion...what happened? Are you ok? Did you…” but Sam never made it to finish his sentence, since he had caught sight of something tattered and torn lying on the floor: short breathed, he left Jack's side to move towards the bear. He knelt on the floor, slowly stretching a hand to collect the remainings of the toy.

Nobody was speaking. Then Cas’ voice emerged softly from the dark, heavy silence of the room “Jack? What exactly have you done to the bear? It's ok, we'll fix it, but you have...you have to tell us exactly _what_ happened…”

“Sam...I'm sorry….I'm so sorry….you told me to leave it alone...I don't know what I was thinking…” there was a teary hint in Jack’s trembling voice “I was… it wasn't me...there was something...someone...in my head, asking me, pushing me, to try it…”

Jack could sense Cas tense and stiffen: his sight was still blurred, but somehow he was diving through the dark, catching glimpses of the surroundings...Cas was near him, steady, silent, his strong presence stretching out to touch his grace and soul and feeding him with calmness and solace; Sam was standing near the end of the bed, features harsh and taunt, the battered remainings of the bear hanging haphazardly from his hands.

“I…. pulled the... cord” he swallowed, the words strangely hard to find and sharp against his throat “...but nothing happened. I heard a strange sound coming from inside, like a ticking...I don’t know….Cas...Sam” his voice was now a whimpering plead “I. Don’t. Know. But I was curious….I took the scalpel from Sam’s kit, and I….I opened its mouth…”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, his vision blurring to another scene...battered clothes, dirty skin, smeared blood...a sewn mouth, metallic wire deeply wedged into the very skin of….

“Sam!” Castiel’s low humming voice tore him from that painful memory. He was kneeling on the floor, near the desk, and was collecting something. Sam dropped on the bed the padding and the chenille that once used to be a stuffed bear, and joined Cas: he was holding something in his hands.

It was a metal box, roughly the size of an average cigar case. The metal was like polished, bright silver, not a single trace of time or usage on the smooth surface. It seemed made of the same, unearthly material of the angel blades. The oddity about it was the complete lack of any sign of opening: no hinges, nor joints, not slots. Nothing. It was like a single piece. But at second, closer look, Castiel and Sam noticed something else: the whole surface of the metal was... _engraved_ ….into an involved pattern.

” _Enochian….the symbols are written in Enochian”_ Sam let his fingers run over the smooth carvings. To his surprise, and to add even more to all of the absurdity of the situation, the carving wasn't hollow, on the other hand it was sort of covered with... _rock crystal?_ Sam mused in disbelief, and under this transparent surface, was flowing...

“Grace” Cas pointed out what Sam had already caught by himself “It is a sort of spell carved in Enochian in the very metal, to seal the box. And to empower the spell, the carving is filled with... _Grace?”_ Castiel seemed offended, disgusted, by the whole thing.

Magic, probably dark magic, using Enochian and Angelic Grace to seal the box. “ _Nothing good can come from this_ ” Sam sadly started to muse among himself, when it started. The humming.

“THAT! I heard that!” Jack screamed, covering his ears - a movement immediately followed by Castiel and Sam, when the humming started to pitch high in a frequency that was making their brains ache in physical pain.

“Cas! Sam! What the hell is this!?” Dean was on the doorframe, covering his ears “Jack, are you ok!?”

The grace was glowing bright, but something was definitely off: it was not the pale silvery blue of the angelic grace, the shining glow they had seen while handling Gabriel’s grace, or Lucifer’s...It was flowing slower and slower, and in the meanwhile it was getting darker and darker, through blue and then indigo to black. _Black grace?!_  Sam was trying to conjure a coherent thought but the piercing sound was making it impossible.

_Do not expose to light._

The lead in the ledger suddenly beamed to Sam.

“Cas! We must cover that box, put it somewhere with no light. It can’t be exposed to light. We need absolute darkness!” Sam yelled to outmatch the noise “When Jack opened the mouth, a thin thread of light must have slid in the inside, activating something! We must stop this before it’s too late!”

But it was already too late. With a shrill whistle, as if a hundred tortured soul screaming in agony were all together voicing their pain, the black grace stopped its flowing inside the carving, and that was when also the shrill stopped.

“Cas…?” Dean’s worried voice was conveying everybody’s dread “Don’t tell me this is gonna end like this because it would be too optimistic!”

“....once in a while, it wouldn’t be bad not to have any problem at all, you know that, right?” Castiel was barely restraining himself, rolling his eyes “I’m afraid this is going to end bad. The carvings, I’ve seen them before...I think it might be…” but he never managed to complete the sentence, because the box began to shake on the floor among his knees, where he had put it to cover his ears.

Then, the crystal literally exploded everywhere.

And a dark stream of brilliant black light started to flow out of the leaks, curling and curving in mid air, gathering at the top of the ceiling for it seemed it couldn’t trespass it.

“The sigils! It can’t get over the sigils, it’s trapped inside the bunker!” Castiel shouted, letting his angel blade slip down from his sleeve in one, fluid movement, even if he really didn’t know what it could be used for, against that odd, thick, black brilliance.

 _“It is like…..angel’s grace coupled with demon’s haze?!”_ Sam had quite never seen something of the like. It was a raging, eager, furious current, forced to lapse against the sides of a ship called Bunker, which prevented it from flowing where its will led it: out, away. Free.

Abruptly, all the alarms in the Bunker started go nuts: the lights went out, red safety lights suddenly bursting into life, and the screeching sound of the sirens sliced the silence.

“That damn thing is gonna try ‘n’ get out! Mus’ stop it!” Dean yelled in a hurry, aiming his gun at it, even if it looked silly, since they didn’t even know what the hell was that thing.

Jack frantically thought that he had made this mess, so he had to do something, even if not yet totally sight-recovered from the shock that the blast had granted him: quickly he tried to reach out for his grace and he soon found it: curled in a deep corner of his being, a black hole inside of him that completely lacked any light. A black hole inside a galaxy of light. He called for it, but it just didn’t comply: it simply rolled over and coiled onto itself, like a snake deeply caught into winter numbness.

Jack tried again and again, while the alarms were still blaring and his dads were frantically arguing on what to do next, the shiny fog jumping and bumping and thudding against the sigils on the hallway walls, which on their part immediately pulsed blue at the touch, desperately trying to get rid of the _alien thing_ suddenly come too close to the core of the Bunker.

“ _Lady….is she fine? where is she?”_ Jack tried to focus on the task of protecting his family, but for some reason he could not reach and grab his grace inside. It was just refusing any help. “ _WHY?!”_ Jack was used to that feeling of total, utter uselessness, at least in the last months, before “. _..before eating alive my dying kin…_ ”. He didn’t like it, he did _hate_ the feeling of being a burden, a job, something broken and unable to protect, to heal, to keep safe. He wanted to be the one who could save the day, who could help his family staying safe and sound. To destroy the evil and raise the good, like a hero. Like a jedi.

The memory of Eliot’s disgusted face hit him in the stomach like a rock, heavy, cruel: he faltered, under the sensation. “ _They hate me. And now that I made this chaos, they’ll hate me even more. If only I could set this right, if only I could reach my grace…”_  Panic writhed in his guts, like tears trying to roll down but somehow kept still and clutched inside, drowning him, so his fear just coiled even more around his grace, tugging it deeper and deeper inside the black hole he could see in the pitch of his…. _soul…?_

“Jack??” Dean. His dad. One of his dads. Disappointed. Scared. He was staring at him, eyes wide open, mouth dropped like he couldn’t believe his son wasn’t doing anything at all, deep furrows of concern and fear reaping his features, handgun still lifted up aiming at the fog “This would be a damn good timing for using that mojo you picked up from ol’ uncle Mikey! Go kick this shit’s ass and let’s shove it back into his case!”

But all Jack could do was staring helplessly, hand grabbing air while calling for his sleeping grace, and watch that horrifying black grace seeping through the air conducts and finding its way out, in the clear air. In the open. In the world. Free.

Muffled, in the distance, Lady was barking and calling.

*******************************************

“Maybe next time ask us before playing doctor and nurse with some freakin’ thing from a freakin’ dude!” Dean’s voice was steel cold, but the rage rolling in the back of his words was evident, barely restraining himself. He was leaning against the war table, arms crossed and legs widely planted on the floor, as to find some sort of balance in the damn whole situation, handgun close to him on the table, useless “If Sam had told you NOT to touch it, why the hell did you do exactly the opposite!? We already have our bunch of mess, if not releasing some demonic power in the world!”

“Dean…” Castiel tried to diffuse the situation, stepping closer to Dean with a pacifying hand stretched out, as to put himself between his furious friend and the most ashamed Jack, who now was sitting on the floor in a corner of the room, knees tightly wedged among his arms, like he wanted to become the smallest he could, taking even less place than his shadow.

“There's no _Dean_!” he snapped, voice still low and rumbling “there's a mess and we don’t even know what it is all about! Yeah great, thank you….three wise monkeys and the hell of the manga freaks, but we don't even -”

“We will. We will find out, Dean” Sam was clenching his fists, trying not to snap, keeping his voice low and steady, to join Castiel and make Dean cool down “Cas...those words...you said you already saw them, what are they?” he said turning to face Castiel, who was now knelt beside Jack, trying to unbend the mess of a kid he had turned into.

“It's something I had only heard about” he told without turning around “Old magic. Enochian magic, from the beginning of the beginnings...those words tangled together in a pattern like a drawing. I think Naomi could help us, but Heaven’s Gates are closed and sealed, not gaining any help from there” he stopped, lightly touching Jack's cheek, as to reassure him “And that grace...it was..”

“Gabriel's grace” Jack’s whisper was almost a faint flap of butterfly’s wings, even in the deep silence of the room. They had shut down the alarms and lights, and restored the sigils, in any case.

_Gabriel...again...won't you just let me be? Can I feel more guilty than I already feel? Can I miss his presence more than I already do? I made a worse mess than Jack….worse…if he was here now, we could..._

Sam was desperately trying to focus on the situation, and hold on, but since that moment he had caught Jack in the storage room, the haunting presence of the Archangel was following him everywhere. Mad, wide eyes. Terror. Pain. Soft smile, fake as never. That deeply engraved sadness, now even more terrifying because he had felt the endless pit of self-loathe he too had experienced. _Gabriel...will you ever stop haunting me night and day? Or is this only the deserved punishment for my blame?_

“Gabe? He made that box? And the magic? Sounds like him…” Dean uttered.

“No, not him. I guess he only left some of his grace around. I mean, angelic Grace is the most powerful ingredient for almost every most dreadful spell you can find on Earth, Heaven and Hell. It’s like borrowing God’s power itself. Grace...is the linking point between being and not-being, it’s both physical and metaphysical, it’s the suffusion of matter over spirit, and of spirit over matter. The embodiment of light, which means, God himself. Humans...are... _different…_ ” Castiel was speaking slowly, and softly, as if remembering something long lost, before rousing from his wonder “So...this means that Gabriel was somehow connected to this spell. Maybe he gave the instructions about how to use his grace over Enochian...And since the thing kept inside the box was something not angelic nor demonic, and I honestly have no idea of what it could be, I suggest we ask for the helping hand of the only one ally we have, both skilled in magic and dark lore, and who also happens to own the Book of the Damned”.

“Rowena” Sam scowled with a dark grimace. That made sense: the witch, thanks to Gabriel’s ability to bend reality, had managed to trap and weaken Lucifer himself, and had shown a power, and a knowledge, far beyond Castiel’s. If someone in this world could find something about the cursed box and the entity kept inside, it was her.

“You know, we could also ask Donny, if he can find something on the Demon Tablet…” Dean tried to suggest, at once stopped by Castiel’s remark.

“No, we have to keep Donatello out of this. He’s just been back from his coma, and due to his _soulless_ status, we can’t take the risk of having him turning evil again. Without his soul, he’s an easy prey to the darkness lying in that words. No, Donatello must stay out of this all, particularly in the current situation, when we don’t even know _what_ we’re dealing with”.

Cas definitely had a point, Sam mused pensively. No need to face a brain-fried evil prophet, with all the mess still around them. He dipped a hand into his pocket and grabbed the phone, looking for the most recent contact. He found it immediately and pressed the call key, setting the phone on private conversation. They couldn’t afford to waste time giving and taking advices and instructions, and Rowena needed to see and touch the box, if they wanted at least find a hint to start with.

“Rowena? It’s Sam here. I think we need you here….Yes, we, I mean, we all. Yes, as soon as you can. Which means, before tomorrow morning, if you can….Sure, as alway, I’ll add it to the list, free to collect whenever you want to. See you tomorrow, and….huh, Rowena...thank you”. The last words bearing an almost insignificant tinge of softness: whatever they could think of her, Rowena wasn’t obliged to hasten to them everytime they called her, and no one forced her to comply and help. It was out of sheer affection that she always answered, and helped, even when it  was his jerk brother taking the phone call, bearing the most unnerving tone and spitting the most obnoxious nicknames he could put on her.

It was about time they started showing thankfulness to their very few friends. And this was the perfect timing.

He put back the phone, casting worried glances across the room: Dean still frowning, in a corner, annoyingly scattering the books around, as if he was actually trying to get some informations out of them. Castiel still holding to Jack, in the opposite corner, talking in a low tone about something Sam could not hear, but anyway did well figure out: Jack’s sorrowful countenance was conveying all his guilt and shame, and surely Cas was trying to ease the situation out of him. The kid already had his amount of worry about the burning of his soul, and the grace binge he had taken on Michael: putting too much pressure on him, could only drive him away, making him explode.

_Literally._

Since Jack was at least under control, Sam moved towards his brother, to try again and mend the broken pieces of their fragile peace. It was going to be a very long night.

 _“If only Mom and Rowena were here….”_ he found himself pondering, before nudging to Dean’s arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, as always, all comments and critics are all welcomed! I'm working slow due to work and school, and actually also the show still going on...which adds some complications to it all. Thank you for every comment :)


	8. "The more thou search, the more thou shall marvel"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A not-so-pleasant family gathering...and some uneasy discoveries, before the storm...

 

*******************************************

_“Then I saw three evil spirits that looked like frogs; they came out of the mouth of the dragon, out of the mouth of the beast and out of the mouth of the false prophet. They are spirits of demons performing miraculous signs, and they go out to the kings of the whole world, to gather them for the battle on the great day of God Almighty.”_

*******************************************

 

“History became legend and legend became myth. And people just forgot about the whole story, about what really happened. Myths are funnier to remember than the actual, awful truth.”

Castiel couldn’t help but intensely staring at Dean, who was sitting on his chair, dangerously rocking back and forth on its back legs, feet propping onto the table hem. He clearly could not stand all of the boredom that conversation was bringing him, and he was about to snap at Rowena: knowing all the history about the damn box and its content was useless, they needed to skip to the part where they learn how to find and kill the monster.

Cause that was it: a monster, another one. Take it down the Winchester way. Even if it was going to be much worse than expected.

“So, let me sum up the whole past three hours of bullshit…” Dean sulked, trying not to mind about Castiel and Rowena rolling their eyes, and Sam giving him the most scolding bitchface of the past three weeks

“We get this: we have Gabriel the Archangel, who in lack of other available entertainment, decided to drop into middle east in times of old, and start a Coven of Magicians, letting them study and develop the Enochian lore and pagan magic in all secrecy, to create a “ _Humanity Saving Squad Magic Army_ ” and fight back Big Bad Bro Luci on their own, when the time would come...then we had the Jesus Christ Superstar show with the Star and everything, and a bunch of Wise Men, not only three like they tell you at Christmas dinner, go find him and all…”

Dean was gesturing frantically, as to enact the whole story, still precariously perching from his chair, rocking on two legs only “It ends with three of them becoming obsessed about knowledge and end of world and fighting evil and using power for good, that actually became themselves the monsters, mistaking Lucifer for Santa Claus and teaming up with him in disguise. Gabriel gets to know, gets pissed as hell, gifts the ol’ ma’am running the Coven with three vials of his freaking grace, and they make the magic...BAM! Wise Men entrapped into the box forever”.

Castiel could clearly see the displeasure shown off Sam’s face. He and Rowena had worked the past three hours to translate the complicated Enochian carvings, a sort of odd version of the traditional language, all mixed with symbols from magic and old cuneiform words, carefully put in a precise arrangement.

“Then time goes on, world gets old, Coven gets out of legal, head office gets hired, and they don’t know where to put the damn ol’ men….so they stuff them into some ragged toy scattered around, to keep them safe and unnoticed, and flow away to God knows where. Apparently, losing the precious cargo along the road. But then, the spell was sure and the hideout good…. _’til someone decided to play happy surgeon with a two centuries old toy and release a nasty evil duds in the world!”_ finally Dean let the chair fall on the floor with a sharp thud, feet coiling under the table, fingers entwined together, knuckles white, lips tightly shut after his tirade, his squinted eyes looking at Jack across the room.

“Dean, he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to make a mess, it just happened….” Cas started “... _and I’m even more concerned about him talking of voices in his head, if you ask me...but that’s something we’ll deal with later”_ he only thought, because he didn't want to add even more to Jack’s burden.

“It’s not that simple, Dean” Rowena interloped almost the same time as Cas’ attempt to ease Dean’s annoyance and distress.

She was massaging her temples in a melodramatic acting pose, as to convey all of the discomfort that premature trip from Lincoln to Lebanon had given her, with more than two hours of reckless driving because they didn’t want Jack to get around flapping his wings to get her back, and she couldn’t afford any waste of energy by teleporting herself across the state, thanks to the energy-washing she had been graciously granted by the Nephilim, as a side effect of the exorcism of Michael out of her head...

Her dark blue satin blouse and the matching pale azure silky trousers, although seemingly just collected in a hurry, were giving her a soft, almost fairy appearance, in her tiny bones and smooth flesh. She was a beautiful sight, according to human standards, such a puny, fragile, dainty fairy, yet Castiel could easily detect the flood of magic spreading all around, dark blue and violet trickles rolling around her body, gently wrapping around the boys, to touch their souls and reach for them in a totally different way from how humans used to…

” _It’s like hugging magic”,_ Castiel realized in a glimpse. She was trying to heal their worries, especially Jack’s ones.

Castiel smiled: that was the effect Jack did to people, always trying to see the good of him, always trying to get the best out of themselves.

“These” she kept talking, with a glorious teaching voice, while tossing around the damaged box “are Enochian boxes, very old ones actually, like the magic they bear. And along with the spells, they carry the story of what happened, even if people should forget about it, every time they _read the words_ ”.

“Oh sure yeah...I studied Enochian and Sumeric at school, four hours a week, I mean….who the hell doesn’t speak Enochian nowadays?” Dean’s mocking tone was trying to defy Rowena sassiness, in a war he was meant to lose.

“ _I can read that,_ Dean...it’s just very...cryptic. It’s not written in capital letters, that’s why I needed help to figure out what the story tells. Most Enochian spells are written in figurative way, you know - figure of speech, metaphors, allegories, mirrors...nothing truly clear, like the whole Apocalypse book. Moreover, there’s magic, pagan magic, winded to them” Castiel intervened before the two of them could get into a fight, the least needed thing in that very moment.

From Dean’s blank stare, Castiel was aware he had lost him at the “cryptic” part. He rolled his eyes and gestured Rowena to keep explaining. Catching his drift, Rowena started again her speech.

“The wise men were residents in a hidden tower in a place called Shir, in the Far East. They were told to be the descendants of Seth, the third son of Adam and Eve, who passed on to them a prophecy from his father that “ _one day a star of amazing brightness would appear to announce the birth of God in human form”_.  She was talking as if she was actually reciting a spell, voice entranced and far away gaze.

“Yeah...So they spent all their lives digging through the lore, the magic and the knowledge, to guide kingdoms and folks to the righteous path, and to keep them safe from armies of Evil. They eventually founded covens and orders all around the world, to create a web of allegiances and protection. But at some point something broke” Sam stopped reading, putting down the book that Rowena had carried along with her from her current dwelling in Lincoln.

“...and you all know how it ended…” Rowena ended, dramatically tossing her long hair aside with a thin hand.

“Excuse me?” Dean could be so dense sometimes... _and niggling..._

Rowena stared at him, then at Sam, who was now squinting his eyes, before snapping them wide open. He had understood the hint, so it seemed.

“That’s how the Order of the Men of Letters started, isn’t it?!” He was awed by the sudden revelation, arms dropping straight at his sides from their previous crossed position on his chest, laying forward to Rowena.

“ _AND,_ how the First Coven started….actually, it was the same Order, in the first, but some inside…. _disagreements...”_ and she emphasized the word with a twitching of the mouth and a fidgeting of eyebrows, straining her forehead as recalling the memory of something unpleasant “...brought the Order to split in two different streaks: one bound to develop and _practice_ the ancient magic, even if the lack of that part of the lore and written documents kept by the other side, forced them to... _twist..._ and change the magic, bending it to their necessities and abilities. Whilst the other stack kept its point of increasing knowledge and studies to create a legacy of protectors, fated to keep humanity safe by banishing everything…. _supernatural…._ ”

She paused, as musing if telling the next part or leaving it unspoken, resolving for the first, apparently “...even their same brethren. At some point during the age of European monarchical absolutism and religious fundamentalism, they used their increasing political power, gained by setting their most influential members as counsellors to kings and emperors and even religious leaders, to destroy the Grand Coven's power, causing many of the Grand Coven's most powerful members to be burned at the stake or forced into hiding. After this slaughter, the Men of Letters simply stole all of the Coven's best spells and lore, and hid them in their bunkers across the world”.

Silence had fallen around her. The first breaking it, unsurprisingly, was Dean “Wow….so our ancestors killed your ancestors, yeah thank you, got it. How does this fit into our current problem?” he was straining his face muscles to keep himself from snapping again at her. 

_“How can it be that you can’t ever try a single time not to irritate and bully every single person trying to help us, if it doesn’t fit your perfect idea of help?”_ Castiel mused sadly, a tired sigh escaping his mouth. It was all getting so difficult, and Jack wasn’t helping, frozen in place, maybe not even listening to what was happening around him, like trapped in his own inside world. This wasn’t any good, for any of them, and he had to stop this tension, someway.

“It _DOES_ fit, you uncultured chucklehead” Rowena hissed, gaining a glorious grimace from Sam “Because the Order trapped the three Wise Men using Enochian _and_ Pagan magic _and_ Angel grace, not out of some extravagance, but sheer lucidity and forecasting: have you ever troubled yourself to read the Apocalypse Revelation book?”

Dean was staring as she had asked him to go buying kale and carrots for dinner.

Rowena pouted, keeping her pep talk, in a dreamy, alienated voice, as if enacting some old time lost play “ _Then I saw three evil spirits that looked like frogs; they came out of the mouth of the dragon, out of the mouth of the beast and out of the mouth of the false prophet. They are spirits of demons performing miraculous signs, and they go out to the kings of the whole world, to gather them for the battle on the great day of God Almighty…._ That’s what is written on the box….more or less”.

Castiel stepped onto her side, leaving a motionless Jack curled onto himself in the corner, only Lady shyly shoving her rosy nose on his leg.

 

*******************************************

Jack was feeling like he was about to throw up, a tight lump growing heavier and heavier in his chest, right behind his breastbone, a little above his stomach. Whether it was actually his stomach or his throat, he could not decide, but the pressure and the oppression were about to make him collapse.

_I did it again, I betrayed their trust. And I don’t even know how to fix this...I just wanted to see what was inside, I didn’t mean to make this mess...it was just a toy..._

And the worst about it all, was that ever since he had touched the damn thing, he had started hearing those voices. Unnatural, muffled, distant, and yet so clinging to his soul - to his grace, mostly, as he could sense only a massive hole inside, where his soul was supposed to be. It was funny: how do you really get to know what a soul is?

With grace, it was shiny, obvious: grace was power, was essence of life itself, was light taken directly from God, tiny shiny threads of light being part of the same, wide tapestry, a perfect, awesome arras made of the wholeness of all those single threads - lose one, the picture itself falls out of place, and is not whole anymore. When grace disappear, you know it for sure because of the total lack of almighty, reality-bending powers, which actually are the tight connection of Angels to all reality, and which granted them, to the most powerful of them, even to bend it to their wills. They just had to pull one cord, one string, one thread, deeply ingrained inside each one of them, and all of them.

Angels were all distinct, and still again one whole. You just can’t stop being an angel, even without grace.

That’s how Castiel had tried to explain him about his lack of grace, when they had come back from Heaven, after his resurrection: grace was the connate essence of an angelic being, not like a limb or blood, more like the entirety of a body for a human being. Take it away, you don’t have a human being, but only a depowered angel, like a human whose leg were milled away: no soul, no Heaven, no grace, only Empty awaiting in the end. You can't escape an Angel’s fate by cutting away your grace.

And that’s why Castiel was so worried about his little bit of cannibalism about Michael, because he knew very well what the effects could be, even if his real father - _Lucifer -_ had actually eat up onto Anael’s grace for a time, and had no side effects shown. Maybe for Archangels - _and Nephilims_ \- things were just totally different from average angels, like Castiel.

And if little was to be known about Archangels’ true essence, even less could be told about their offsprings, Jack mooned. So it turned out that the feeding upon his uncle’s grace could even _not be_  a very good idea….

Even without that bit of a problem, Jack still had to deal with his soul, or what wee chip was still left.

Exactly like he had not been human with his grace drained by his father, so he was not an Angel now, (probably) without a soul: he was just a fractured and interrupted being, and as his body was dying without grace, now his spirit was actually breaking and shattering without soul.

_What is a Nephilim anyway? Who really knows? Nobody. Not even me..._

_I am alone. In the whole Universe, there’s no such like me. And nobody can understand me, nor can tell what’s happening to me now...I mean, without grace it was only a physical death. But now?_

_If ever…._ He wasn’t feeling bad, just….tired. Empty. And like a lightning, Donatello’s words struck him...

  * **_You know, Jack, our galaxy's all bright and shiny and spinny but in its center lies this very large black hole. It's the same with me. I'm all bright and shiny, obviously -- Not so much spinny._** ** _But inside? Empty._**
  * _So you feel bad?_
  * **_I feel nothing. Losing your soul doesn't make you bad. It doesn't make you anything. It's um an absence of... of pity, of empathy... of humanity._**



That was Jack’s most horrifying dread: not feeling anything anymore.

_But is that so bad?_

He remembered so well, when Dean had nearly died after the fight against Noah, the utter feeling of pain, of fear, of hopelessness, foresighting his death. And then again, the guilt, and shame, when Eliot had told him to go away, spitting his despise on his face.

Was it so bad, not to feel anything of this anymore? After all, his true self was not inside his soul, it was what he had built in these years spent with his family, and in the Apocalypse Universe, fighting, building himself as a man, as a person. And that was certainly not related to him having or not a soul.

“I’m much more than that” Jack told himself, his eyes glowing gold under his shut eyelids, sight completely recovered from the bolt of some hours ago “And yet, if my grace has been restored, why doesn’t it comply when I call? why doesn’t it obey, bursting out at command? why does it act on his own, doing things I don’t want to do?”

_Because it’s not yours, my joy...it’s MINE!_

“Who are you? Go away! Stay out of my head, right now!” Jack could see his grace unfurling in the depths of that increasingly dark vastness in the middle of the galaxy he had inside. But it was not at his command that it was complying: it was at his owners’....

“Michael!?”

_Guilty….now let me see what can we do now. See, if you were really thinking about taking me and walk away undamaged, you were wrong. You are so young, you know nothing, you have no guide, no clue, no aim, nothing...Castiel? he’s useless, a failure, no more angel, and certainly not human, nor fish nor bird. Dean? good as a suit, nothing else, he’s such a patched mess inside, I’m amazed he still hasn’t exterminated his whole family. And Sam? Ah, let’s talk about self-loathing suicide-mood washout of a leader, failed as a vessel, failed as demon, failed as a human. And what could you learn from them? Nothing you did. Such a waste of power. But with my help, the one I offered you once and you declined, we could grow more and more powerful...we have a Earth and Heaven and Hell to take over, and you…_

“NO!! GO!! AWAY!!” Jack shouted inside his mind, reaching for his grace - _Michael’s grace -_ and shoving that overwhelming presence in the depths of the dark pit hole it had surfaced from.

_You are nothing without me! NOTHING!! I’m inside you and you can’t do anything about it...sooner or later you’ll fail, and I’ll rise again. I’m more ancient, and more powerful than you can wonder….I'll keep pulling and pushing and shouting until your walls break loose. And there’s nothing you can do to prevent me from -_

**_Actually….there is….and I’m gonna perform at my best if we wanna ol’ druncle get out my eye while I still can hold some grip over you...you know, Mickey Mouse is not the only one seeding his grace inside Nephilim nephew. I may be weak, but if there’s something I can do to wipe that pesky due, hell if I don’t do that! So, you ready for the show? May teach you something and entertain him too, so enjoy the show and don’t take care of him anymore._ **

Jack had really gathered absolutely nothing of the weird words coming from the other voice, far more distant than Michael’s raging yells, still so warm and cheery and... _heartening_ , that Jack felt a sudden bolt of delight forming where the lump was strangling him just some moments ago….

That means, before the music started. And the images flowed inside his head.

Jack moaned in disbelief

…. _Dean...help me…._

He heard Michael enraged screams, slowly fading in the distance.

*******************************************

 

When Castiel spoke, his low, harsh voice resounded like a commandment “Those who were entrusted with the task of protecting humanity, thanks to heavenly knowledge, failed their task because of their obsession about power, and turned to Lucifer’s side, helping him in his try to bring the Apocalypse on Earth. Due to their great influence over kingdoms of old, those evil spirits had a huge opportunity of making things easier, whenever the time would come. That was the reason of their imprisonment. If Lucifer ever managed to break free, at least he would have his deal not totally fulfilled, lacking the presence of his human confederates to spread his word among humanity”.

He paused, then glanced to Rowena “I didn’t know about the spell, nor that the corruptors of Kings and folks were actually those three mild, wise and humble scholars”.

“As I said, history became legend and legend became myth, and people forgot about what truly happened. About it all” her voice was a soft lull now “and they all thought the happenings were not related. And even Angels are not all-seeing, all-knowing...It was a very long time ago, and only us, the haunted, the slaughtered, had any reason to keep this memory”.

“And how does it happen they’re hidden inside some old, tattered teddy bear? what’s the deal?” Sam asked, entranced by the whole story, aside from being scared. Obviously, he had already realized about the severe threat they had just released.

“That’s something still escaping my knowledge, Samuel” Rowena answered, absently toying with the remainings of the bear “And this is not our most oppressive concern, right now. Not as much as caging that thing again. Anyway, I guess we could find something in the records of the Men of Letters, if not here, at least in the British ones”.

At her words, Castiel saw both Dean and Sam frown with displeasure, Dean more out of disgust, and Sam out of worry: they seemingly didn’t like at all the idea of hooking up with Ketch. The idea actually displeasing himself, too.

“What can we find out about it? How can we fight this thing?” Dean asked, voice hollow and coarse.

Rowena moaned, as if in great sorrow “Remember the saying...a warning, for everybody trying to do the right thing... _“He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you”..._ This is always the risk you have to take when facing the Dark. They are not human, nor demons. And there is no recording about the chance of taking them down. They imprisoned them in lack of any other solution, Dean. And if even the Order didn’t know how to kill them…” she said, frowning, letting her dreadful question fluttering at mid air.

“Great...what we do now? Call on Ketch? Ask Heaven?” Sam mouthed, spreading his long arms wide open, resignedly.

“Honestly? I have no idea, Samuel. Even if Lucifer is dead, our Michael is caged and insane, and the Apocalypse has been averted, we still have the Antichrist tossing around, the Dragon and the Beast alive and sealed in some multidimensional dungeon. And now we have one of the three frogs romping around the world...and the End of Times can arrive even without Michael and Lucifer, AND THAT WOULD BE EVEN WORSE! because those primordial monsters don’t want any new, wicked, twisted order...they have no plan, no aim, no goal...just sheer destruction…” she whispered, lowering her long lashes and shutting her eyes closed.

“Rowena…” Castiel’s voice was a soft plea “Do you have any honest idea about how to deal with this all? Any idea? How can we destroy them, do they have any weak spot, any vulnerability we can twist against themselves?”

They all turned to the witch, silently, even Jack: they seemed to ponder if she was their only hope at the moment, depositary as she was of an ancient lore, more ancient and powerful of all the Men of Letters lore, not totally retained by Castiel himself.

Rowena sighed again: this was just too much...eventually, she spoke “You know? Being a skank, bad girl had been so much more fun, being a good girl is so frustrating, and tiring, and I fear I’m growing more and more puckers out of stress and lack of good sleep…” she paused, glancing at all of them. Then, obviously not gaining the kind of support and compliance she was trying to build, she went on.

“They are the sort of Demons of the Earth, who will lead the powerful rulers of all world to rebel against God. They are not rebellious Angels, nor Alphas, nor monsters. And they are not standard demons, they don’t have a physical body which we can destroy, and they don’t take meatsuits. Made from mankind and out of mankind, soul and flesh together. No selling soul, no demonic deals, no torture, no losing humanity. They were human, once, body and soul entangled together, and as a whole they turned into Demons, alive, breathing, heart still beating. Made of flesh and blood, turned to sheer Will. No grace, no soul. The worst thing ever occurred to God’s creation. No supernatural codes, no lore, no rules, nothing... only improvisation. As they dug themselves out of the knowledge, so we have to do in order to finally kill them. Unless we find another Enochian box and Archangel grace to seal them back” and so saying, she stared deep into Sam’s eyes. They both were thinking the same.

_No more Archangels available on this Earth or the other one…You let the last one die on the other side. Try again later._

“Why are you talking like this?” Dean asked, frowning and shaking his head “ _they...are….them..._ As far as we know, there’s only one of these ol’ druncles spinning around. We get him, we seal him, or kill….better… Done. World saved again” and slapped his hand on the table.

The loud thump made Jack wince. He slowly raised his head, glaring from Castiel to Dean, from Rowena to Sam, to Dean again. Then he spoke, words fuzzy as if just awaken from a very bad, hungover sleep, cheek flushed and lips swollen, his eyes lost in some distant dream “He’s looking for the others, right? Rowena, he’s going to search the other frogs, and release them, and together, they will awaken the Beast, the Dragon and the Antichrist, right?”

Castiel flinched, sensing pain and regret in his voice. And something else, like…. _shame._

“The Antichrist?! _Jesse_?” Sam had fixed his gaze onto Rowena, as to get a solid evidence that this was an hallucination “He was a kid, we let him go because without Lucifer around, his powers wouldn’t be a threat. I mean” Sam chuckled, making a face and trying to gain confidence from his own words, pacing nervously back and forth “Lucifer _is dead,_ and without him there’s no chance to restart the Apocalypse...right?”

Rowena was still, and muted, head lowered on the Book of Damned.

“Right….?” Sam was worried, now. Something was wrong in her lack of antics and mockery.

“Samuel….this ALL is wrong, and weird. I can’t help you with this question. Things have gone a bit too far for an insignificant witch. Michael the Stranger was something big...but this….whoaaaa...no deal. All I can say, it’s that it may be appropriate to find this boy even if now, without Lucifer around, he no longer holds so much power to be a real menace. But better in our hands than in the Frogs’ hands, I guess” she finally let go, leaning back in the couch.

“Allright, then we go collect the boy, find him and put him safe. Dungeon maybe...No need for him to wipe away all the Heaven Hosts” Dean was already standing, aiming to the hallway, to get ready and fetch his duffel and drive away, maybe to the last place they had seen Jesse many years ago. Castiel could understand his frenzy. _Anything better than doing nothing at all…_

“Dean...Heaven’s Host no longer exists….we are dying as a kin, I already told you. We are legitimately extinct. We can’t create new angels, we can’t reproduce, and we are so…. _few_ ” he could sense his gaze averting away from this all, from the Bunker, from humanity. To his dying family, to his collapsing home...and felt a lonely, bitter sting of longing for a simpler past, and brighter days. When he was just an Angel of the Lord. A Watcher.

Then he went on, discerning all their eyes were rooted on him “Anyway, it’s better for sure if the Antichrist doesn’t awake and kills all the few remaining Angels. Or worse.  You wouldn’t like to face the collapse of billions of souls wandering on Earth….”

They all shivered at the thought.

“It's not only about finding the Antichrist and the Demon who escaped” Rowena tried with a weary tone.

“Great! What else again?” Dean had already stopped in his tracks, and at the words he dropped his arms, rolling eyes and leaning on his right leg, all his body conveying irritation and haste.

“We must track the Beast and the Dragon, and make sure they can’t be awaken. But first, we have to trail the first Omen, and prevent him from finding and releasing the other two” Rowena hadn’t stopped staring deeply into Castiel’s eyes, whether to gain confidence or reading his intentions, he could not tell.

“Right...we have to find the buyers of the other two bears, and to find them will be a heck of a hell with no hints or clues at all in the ledger” Sam collapsed on the chair, tiredness of a full-research, non-sleep-night finally starting to weaken his will “But if it comes to mythological beasts I fear we’re a little out of practice. Just some _average_ dragons and a _corny_ phoenix from the past, nothing Apocalypse related, anyway”. He was clearly exhausted.

And not only because of the accident...Castiel could sense something amiss with him, since the death of Maggie, as if something had clicked out of place and it could not find its way home anymore.

_A_ _mutual_ _feeling..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, I decided to split the chapter to avoid life-long readings...this one has been a little too didactic, but was a necessary bridge to the real action. Oh yes...I have not lost tracks of Gabe ;) he's just....busy...

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a plan for a challenge that didn't end well, anyway the ideas simply kept popping up, and when it was time for Gabriel Monthly Challenge, I just fit the prompt inside....I have no idea when I'll have the time to keep writing, but I'll do.  
> Always welcomed suggestions, comments, eveything. Not beta, so sorry for my mistakes :)


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